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BY 
iNATHAN  GALLIZIER 


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WORKS  OF 

NATHAN    GALLIZIER 

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'"HAVE    VOU    SEEN    ME    BEFORE,    OTTOKINO    VISCONTI  ?  "' 

{See  page  2S4) 


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Cartel  bel  /Iftontc 

H  IRomance  oX  tbe  jfall  of  tbe 
Dobenstauten  D^nastp  in  ftals 


By     NATHAN     GALLIZIER 
Illustrated    by    H.    C.    EDWARDS 


BOSTON'     L.     C.     PAGE 
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Published  February,  1905 

Third  Impression,  April,  1907 
Fourth  Impression,  November,  1910 


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rO   THE    WEDNESDAYS 
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Introduction 


Behind  the  cypress-clad  hills  of  the  Eternal  City  the 
sun  had  set,  and  the  last  lights  of  the  swiftly  going  day 
were  gleaming  on  the  waves  of  the  river  which  had 
changelessly  sent  its  waters  toward  the  sea  through  cen- 
turies of  hope  and  fear,  of  pride  and  shame,  of  glory 
and  disgrace. 

As  the  last  glow  vanished  before -the  purple  of  the 
oncoming  twilight,  dense  thunder-clouds  rose  higher  and 
higher  above  the  Tyrrhenian  Sea,  and  began  swiftly  to 
overshadow  the  ancient  capital  of  the  Caesars.  Pall-like 
the  black  shadows  fell  upon  the  Piazza  Colonna,  hiding 
the  lofty  columns  of  Mars  the  Avenger,  and  darkening 
the  gray  pavements  of  the  Forum  of  Augustus,  The 
deep  and  ominous  hush  which  preceded  the  storm  was 
intensified  by  the  silver  chime  of  the  convent  bells  from 
distant  Aventine,  their  soft  music  singing  the  message 
of  peace  to  the  disturbed  heart  of  nature  and  of  man. 

But  how  marked  was  the  contrast  between  the  time 
when  splendid  and  gorgeous  pageants  filled  the  streets 
and  piazzas,  when  pompous  processions  of  cardinals  and 
prelates,  surrounded  by  the  gilded  arms  and  shining  mail 
of  the  pontifical  guards,  passed  by,  while  the  incense 
curled  its  mystic  spiral  wreath  around  the  victorious 
panoplies  of  the  Church,  and  now,  when  the  strangely 
clad  and  more  strangely  armed  rabble  of  Rome  crept 

vii 


viii  fntro&ttctfon 

through  the  streets  and  over  the  waste  fields  of  Campo 
Marzio.  A  vacillating  mob,  to-day  the  prey  of  the  Co- 
lonna,  to-morrow  the  victims  of  the  Orsini,  they  surged 
with  pale  and  anxious  faces  around  the  consecrated  cir- 
cuit of  San  Giovanni  in  Laterano,  and  thronged  about 
the  ponderous  well-guarded  portals,  over  which  hovered 
the  grim  spectre  of  death. 

Pope  Urban,  the  Fourth,  was  dying. 

In  a  darkened  chamber  the  three  cardinals  of  Nar- 
bonne,  Orvieto,  and  Cosenza  watched  with  anxious,  care- 
worn faces  round  the  couch  of  the  man  who,  with  iron 
grip  and  relentless  hand,  had  shaped  the  destinies  of 
Italy,  had  inflamed  anew  the  dying  embers  of  strife 
between  Guelph  and  Ghibelline,  had  hurled  anathema 
upon  anathema  against  the  imperial  house  of  Hohen- 
staufen,  and  laid  b*an  and  interdict  upon  the  descendants 
of  Emperor  Frederick  the  Second.  The  only  persons 
who,  at  his  own  behest,  had  been  admitted  to  the  sick- 
bed of  the  pontiff,  they  seemed  eagerly  to  await  the 
result  of  the  diagnosis  from  the  lips  of  the  hooded  dis- 
ciple of  ^sculapius,  who  was  bending  over  the  pale, 
emaciated  form  among  the  cushions. 

From  without  the  rumbling  of  thunder,  distant,  yet 
menacing,  the  ever-increasing  roar  of  the  approaching 
tempest,  the  fitful  gusts  of  the  gale,  the  sullen  mutterings 
of  the  crowds,  divided  even  now  in  hatred  and  love, 
reechoed  through  the  darkened  chamber. 

Powerful  stimulants  had  roused  the  aged  pontiff  from 
a  protracted  swoon  almost  like  the  sleep  of  death.  Slowly 
he  turned  his  head  toward  the  Greek  physician,  fixing 
upon  him  his  questioning  gaze,  as  penetrating  at  this 
last  stage  of  his  illness  as  it  was  when  the  thunder  of 
his  voice  was  wont  to  rouse  the  Conclave. 

The  Greek  placed  a  phial  containing  a  clear  liquid 


fntro^ttctton  ix 

upon  an  ebony  table,  and  nodded  in  response  to  the  mute 
interrogation. 

"  The  hand  of  the  King  of  Shadojvs  hath  passed  over 
thy  brow,"  he  said.  "  Thou  wilt  not  behold  the  orb  of 
the  waking  day." 

"  I  thank  thee,"  the  pontiff  replied,  in  tones  hardly 
above  a  whisper,  while  his  white  emaciated  fingers  re- 
moved a  stray  lock  of  gfray  hair  from  his  clammy  fore- 
head. "  Your  lying  Roman  doctors  had  promised  me 
another  day.  How  short  the  span  of  time  between  life 
and  eternity !  " 

He  attempted  to  raise  himself  upon  his  elbows,  but 
fell  back  upon  the  cushions.  The  ravages  of  the  fever 
had  consumed  the  old  man's  strength. 

A  blinding  flash  of  lightning,  followed  by  a  terrific 
peal  of  thunder,  wrapped  the  entire  city  from  the  region 
of  the  Lateran  to  far-off  Trastavere,  and  intermingled 
with  the  violent  gusts  of  the  wind  rose  the  clamour  of  the 
crowds  to  the  chamber  of  the  dying  pontiff.  At  first 
he  heeded  it  not;  his  thoughts  seemed  to  linger  in  the 
past.  Nervously  his  fingers  played  on  the  silken  cover, 
as  if  they  were  unconsciously  digging  the  grave  which 
was  so  soon  to  receive  what  was  mortal  of  the  High 
Priest  of  Christendom. 

"The  star  of  Hohenstaufen  has  reached  the  horizon, 
—  it  is  on  its  downward  course,"  he  soliloquized,  ab- 
stractedly. "  In  the  sands  of  Cosenza,  Alaric  sleeps,  and 
Theodoric,  whom  they  styled  the  Great,  at  Ravenna. 
The  plains  of  Vesuvius  cover  Totila  and  Teja;  verily, 
Italy  is  the  graveyard  of  Northern  ambition !  " 

"Bring  the  tiara,"  he  spoke  to  Antonio  Pignatello, 
Cardinal  of  Cosenza,  who  was  bending  over  him.  "  I 
feel  death  approaching  —  I  will  die  a  Pope  —  as  Urban 
should." 


X  fntroDuctlon 

The  majordomo  hastened  to  fulfil  the  wish  of  the 
dying  pontiff.  With  trembling  fingers  the  cardinals  as- 
sisted him  in  clothing  Urban  in  the  great  pontifical  chas- 
uble, and  placing  upon  his  head  the  tiara  of  Constantine. 

Strange  sounds  were  in  the  air  without.  The  gloom 
was  rent  by  incessant  flashes  of  lightning.  Crashing 
peals  of  thunder  reverberated  through  the  Seven  Hills, 
and  the  hurricane  howled,  as  if  witches  were  chanting 
their  weird  incantations  over  the  forgotten  graves  of 
dead  malefactors.  But  above  the  shrieking  tempest,  the 
howl  of  the  hurricane,  the  roar  of  the  thunder,  rose  shrill 
the  tumult  of  the  populace.  Rome  was  in  the  throes 
of  revolt ;  the  factions  of  Colonna  and  Orsini,  of  Ghibel- 
line  and  Guelphs,  were  once  more  arrayed  against  each 
other.  In  every  region  of  the  city  rebellion  tossed  her 
flaming  torch  against  the  authority  of  the  pontiff,  while 
with  tongues  of  fire  and  voice  of  thunder  heaven  itself 
seemed  to  cry  out  against  the  fickleness  of  the  Romans. 

Urban's  countenance  was  truly  terrible  in  this,  his 
last  trial,  doomed  as  he  was  to  behold  the  crumbling 
of  pontifical  prestige  and  the  triumph  of  his  enemies. 
His  eyes  stared  wildly  and  crimson  foam  oozed  from 
his  lips.  But  the  paroxysm  was  short.  Raising  himself 
aloft  on  the  cushions,  without  the  aid  of  the  astonished 
Greek,  he  gasped: 

"  To  my  successor  I  bequeath  the  task  which  I  must 
leave  unfinished.  In  this,  my  dying  hour,  I  consecrate 
to  the  fiends  of  doom  the  imperial  house  of  Hohen- 
staufen!  May  their  light  be  extinguished!  May  death 
and  despair  be  their  inheritance ! " 

They  were  his  last  words  on  earth. 

After  hurling  this  final  anathema  upon  his  mortal 
foes.  Urban  remained  for  a  moment  rigid  as  a  statue. 
Then  his  fingers  relaxed  their  hold,  wildly  his  arms  beat 


fntro&uction  « 

the  air,  and,  sinking  back,  the  relentless  foe  of  Frederick 
the  Emperor  passed  the  barriers  of  the  beyond. 

Jacob  Pantaleon,  the  patriarch  of  Jerusalem,  the  cob- 
bler's son,  who  had  to  his  life's  end  continued  the  policy 
of  Alexander  IV.  and  Innocent  IV.,  —  Pope  Urban  IV. 
was  dead. 

When  the  thunder-clouds  had  rolled  to  eastward  over 
the  Roman  Campagna,  and  once  again  in  that  eventful 
night  the  starlight  gleamed  peacefully  over  the  ancient 
capital  of  the  Caesars,  the  comet  which  for  months  had 
lashed  the  heavens  with  its  fiery  tail  had  disappeared, 
and  was  seen  no  more. 


Contents 


BOOK   THE   FIRST 

FAGB 

I.     Palermo 3 

II.     Lord  and  Follower 25 

III.  The  Black  Penitent 41 

IV.  The  Shrine  in  the  Forest    .   .   .   .51 
V.  The  Torre  del  Diavolo 67 

VI.  Favara 86 

VII.     Count  Landulf  of  Trent 102 

VIII.  The  Mysterious  Ferryman        .        .        .        •  113 

IX.  The  Recluse  of  Monte  Pellegrino         .        .124 

X.     La  Zisa 139 

BOOK  THE   SECOND 

I.    Fata  Morgana 155 

II.    The  Mad  Girl 164 

III.  The  Council 181 

IV.  The  Grottoes  of  Proserpina    .        .        .        .197 
V.     The  Tryst 209 

VI.    Leila 218 

VII.  The  Mass  of  the  Dominicans    ....  233 

VIII.    Confessions 245 

IX.    The  Torture  -  chamber 255 

X.  The  Spectre  of  the  Torre       ....  270 

XI.     Conspiracies 278 

XII.    The  Midnight  Citation 283 


vi  Contents 


PACB 


XIII.  Amor  Victor 306 

XIV.  The  Attack  on  the  Torre        ....  320 
XV.     An  Adventure 334 

XVI.  The  Excommunication          .....  344 

BOOK   THE    THIRD 

I.     Castel  del  Monte 361 

II.  The  Shrines  of  Angelo  dei  Lombardi    .        .378 

III.  The  Shades  of  Midnight 390 

IV.  Convivium  Regale 402 

V.     The  Horoscope 417 

VI.     The  Spectral  Mass 424 

VII.  The  Battle  of  Benevento          ....  429 

Epilogue 444 


Xfst  of  Ifllusttatfons  . 


i^ 


" «  Have  you  seen  me  before,  Ottorino  Visconti  ? ' " 

{See  page  284)      ......        Frontispiece 

«  She  hastened  down  the  steps  to  the  litter  "     .  65 

"«Go   ON    THY    WAY,   AS    I    WILL   ON    MINE'"      .            .            .  l6o 

" '  Promise  me  not  once  to  look  upon  this  strange 

PORTAL    without    REMEMBERING    YOUR    PLEDGE'"     .  1 78 

"'I    DEMAND    this    WOMAN,    DUKE    OF   AlTAMURA  !  '  "        .  33I 

" '  By  the  eternal  God,  I  have  killed  her  1 ' "       .  399 


BOOK   THE    FIRST 


**  Ed  egli  a  me :  Dopo  lunga  tenzone 

Verranno  al  sangue,  e  la  parte  selvaggia 
Caccera  Valtra  con  molta  offensione. 
Pot  appresso  convien  che  questa  caggia 
Infra  tre  soli,  e  che  Valtra  sormonti, 
Con  laforza  di  tal,  che  test^  piaggia" 

—  Dante,  U Inferno,  Canto  VI.,  64-6Q. 


Castel  bel  flDonte 


CHAPTER  I 


PALERMO 


A  SULTRY  summer  day  of  the  year  1265  was  drawing 
to  its  close.  The  sun,  which  had  relentlessly  besieged 
vale  and  mountain  with  his  fiery  rays,  was  slowly  re- 
treating to  the  west.  The  distant  mountain-peaks  of  the 
Bagaria  were  half  hidden  with  drapery  of  gold  and  pur- 
ple and  crimson,  and  the  soft  haze  of  the  summer  evening 
floated  over  the  Conca  d'Oro.  Conca  d'Oro  —  the  pearl 
in  the  golden  shell  of  the  universe  —  so  Emperor  Fred- 
erick the  Second  had  christened  the  vale  of  Palermo. 
And  now  in  this  valley  appeared  a  cavalcade  of  horsemen, 
slowly  winding  around  the  highroad  leading  from  Mon- 
reale  to  the  capital  of  Sicily. 

The  troop  consisted  of  about  twenty  men,  all  well 
mounted  and  wearing  the  usual  accoutrements  of  the 
condottieri  of  the  age.  A  coarse  leathern  jerkin,  breast 
and  back  protected  with  plates  of  steel,  was  worn  over 
the  body,  with  cap  and  leggins  of  linked  mail.  Short 
swords  intended  for  close  combat,  heavy  oaken  lances 
resting  in  their  stirrup  and  gripped  by  iron-covered 
hands  well  prepared  to  wield  the  weapon,  were  means  of 
defence  not  to  be  despised. 

3 


4  Castel  t)el  /l>onte 

At  the  head  of  the  column  rode  two  persons.  The 
younger  one  would  not  fail  to  recognize  as  leader,  even 
if  his  costly  garments  had  not  in  themselves  denoted  his 
rank.  A  graceful  knight  of  some  twenty-six  years,  Ot- 
torino  Visconti  seemed  at  first  sight  hardly  old  enough 
to  be  the  captain  of  a  band  of  warriors;  yet  he  had 
practised  the  military  calling  under  the  eyes  of  one  of 
the  greatest  leaders  of  Lombardy,  had  at  his  hands  re- 
ceived the  military  belt  and  the  stroke  of  knighthood, 
and  had  eagerly,  ever  since  he  was  old  enough  to  wear 
cuirass,  espoused  the  cause  of  his  great  kinsman  and 
champion  of  the  Northern  Ghibellines,  Matteo  Visconti, 
imperial  viceroy  of  Lombardy. 

On  this  occasion  Ottorino  Visconti  had  abandoned  the 
heavy  armour,  which  lent  so  warlike  an  appearance  to 
his  cavalcade,  and  the  scorching  rays  of  the  Southern 
sun  had  proved  the  wisdom  of  so  welcome  a  change.  An 
azure  mantle,  upon  which  was  artfully  embroidered  the 
Golden  Viper  of  his  house,  covered  a  suit  of  dark  green 
velvet,  which  closely  fitted  his  youthful,  well-shaped 
limbs.  A  hat  of  the  same  colour  as  the  mantle  sat  grace- 
fully upon  the  finely  shaped  head.  A  white  heron's 
feather,  which  waved  as  he  rode,  formed  a  striking 
contrast  with  the  dark  hues  of  his  hair.  His  face  was 
fair,  though  slightly  sunburned,  and  from  his  dark 
brown  eyes  there  gleamed  many  a  merry  glance  at  his 
grim  companion.  This  individual,  in  virtue  of  his  rank 
as  subordinate  commandant,  carried  a  banderol  on  the 
point  of  his  lance  and  was  furnished  with  a  shield  in 
addition  to  his  other  arms.  So  much  of  his  countenance 
as  was  visible  beneath  the  steel  cap  displayed  a  grim 
set  of  features,  seamed  with  many  a  scar,  short  black  hair, 
touched  with  gray,  and  a  thick  beard  to  correspond. 

At  times  this  worthy  kept  even  pace  with  Ottorino 


Palermo  $ 

Visconti,  at  times  he  allowed  himself  to  drop  somewhat 
behind.  Altogether  he  at  first  sight  revealed  a  marked 
resemblance  to  a  huge  wine-cask,  crammed  into  mas- 
culine attire,  and  set  upon  an  iron-gray  Norman.  At 
other  times  he  appeared  like  a  sailboat  on  angry  sea- 
waves,  and  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  steering  himself 
with  the  aid  of  the  tremendous  lance,  which  rested  upon 
his  stirrup. 

For  some  time  the  travellers  proceeded  in  silence, 
probably  being  too  fatigued  for  conversation,  or  perhaps 
because  the  still  and  sultry  calm,  into  which  the  evening 
gradually  closed,  produced  an  effect  of  lethargy  upon 
their  spirits.  Suddenly  at  a  turn  of  the  road  they  came 
within  full  view  of  Palermo,  rising  out  of  the  valley, 
her  countless  cupolas,  spires,  and  pinnacles  piercing  the 
transparent  air. 

Bringing  his  steed  to  a  standstill,  Ottorino  scanned 
with  eagerness  the  scene  which  unrolled  itself  before  his 
wondering  gaze.  Numerous  groups  of  pilgrims  enlivened 
the  paths  leading  to  the  gates  of  the  imperial  city ;  many 
groups  of  knights,  with  their  vassals  and  retainers,  noble- 
men and  serfs,  poured  forth  from  hidden  or  secluded 
roadways ;  sometimes,  too,  an  abbot  with  all  his  monas- 
tery, or  an  abbess  with  her  gentle  recluses,  ambled  on 
sleek  mules  across  the  narrow  vale,  attended  by  armed 
retainers  in  the  livery  of  some  feudal  baron.  Some  were 
travelling  as  if  to  a  carousal,  others  as  to  a  funeral, 
some  armed,  others  almost  naked;  beggars,  princes, 
priests,  nobles,  vassals,  soldiers,  and  condottieri  trooped 
on  for  once  in  peace  and  mutual  forbearance.  Devotion 
also  took  many  curious  forms,  but  most  conspicuous  in 
the  throng  was  a  group  of  Spanish  pilgrims,  with  the 
cockle-shells  of  St.  James  of  Compostella  in  their  broad 
hats,  and  singing  loud  hozannas  as  they  went. 


6  Castel  ^el  /Donte 

The  impending  coronation  of  Manfred,  Prince  of 
Taranto,  as  King  of  Sicily,  Capua,  and  Apulia,  had 
brought  to  the  shores  of  Trinacria  the  representatives 
of  almost  every  Ghibelline  principality  of  the  peninsula. 
Only  the  narrow  vale  of  the  Oreto  now  separated  from 
the  city  the  several  cavalcades,  which  had  almost  simul- 
taneously disembarked  from  their  galleys,  of  which  the 
Visconti's  was  the  most  remarkable  for  its  size  and  splen- 
did accoutrements ;  but  the  mist  of  glory,  shed  over  the 
city  by  the  setting  sun,  confused  the  perception  of  dis- 
tance to  such  a  degree  that  the  throngs  appeared  nearer 
to  the  gates  than  they  really  were. 

"  Palermo !  Palermo  la  bella !  "  exclaimed  Ottorino, 
giving  way  to  his  enthusiasm.  "  There  she  stands,  the 
destined  empress  of  the  world,  about  to  place  her  diadem 
on  the  brow  of  the  peerless  knight  who  has  dared  to 
snatch  her  from  the  clutches  of  papacy!  By  the  mass! 
Those  circling  walls  with  their  towers  and  spires  seem 
to  float  in  the  air  like  one  vast  crown  of  beaten  gold ! " 

"  Is  not  yonder  the  tomb  of  William  the  Norman  ?  " 
growled  the  grim  champion  at  his  side,  pointing  to  a 
remote  and  solitary  ruin. 

"  It  is  as  you  say,  Canaletto,"  replied  the  Lombard. 
"  But  what  troop  of  knights  is  that  approaching  the 
gates,  and  what  is  it  all,  that  is  stirring  around  the  great 
tower  of  Abdurrhaman  ?  " 

"  I  see  what  appears  to  me  like  a  great  procession  and 
a  banner  with  the  Broken  Loaf !  " 

"  The  Frangipani,  staunch  upholders  of  the  dynasty. 
But  here  come  wayfarers  of  another  kind  —  mark  you 
their  zeal  ?    They  travel  with  speed !  " 

Two  personages,  one  of  whom  wore  the  mitre  and 
robes  of  a  bishop,  appeared  mounted  on  mules,  followed 


Palermo  7 

at  some  distance  by  a  company  of  knights,  whose  rich 
armour  continually  flashed  in  the  setting  sun. 

"  By  my  faith,  it  is  the  Cardinal  of  Trapani,  and  with 
him  Guido  of  Suzzara,  the  Protonotary  of  Bari,"  said 
Canaletto.     "  They  scent  a  vintage  as  far  as  a  carrion." 

The  Visconti  broke  into  a  merry  laugh,  but  before  he 
could  reply,  the  personages  thus  described  were  so  near 
that  their  appearance  could  be  more  closely  scrutinized. 
The  Protonotary  of  Bari  was  a  man  of  about  fifty,  lean 
and  shrivelled ;  his  face  was  generally  cast  down  in 
assumed  humility,  but  when  raised  it  so  closely  re- 
sembled that  of  a  red  fox,  in  the  sharp,  cunning  features, 
in  the  peculiar  glitter  of  the  eye,  that  few  beheld  it  with- 
out making  the  comparison.  The  other  was  a  fat  and 
bulky  man,  whose  large,  dull  German  visage  was,  as  it 
were,  oiled  all  over  with  self-complacency  and  stolidity, 
and  contrasted  curiously  with  the  acute  physiognomy  of 
his  companion.  This  was  the  Cardinal  of  Trapani,  an 
active  partisan  of  the  late  emperor,  by  whose  appoint- 
ment he  had  held  the  office  ever  since. 

"  Corpo  di  Bacco ! "  exclaimed  the  foxen-visaged  dig- 
nitary, "  yonder  rides  the  Duke  of  Ajltamura !  "  And, 
switching  his  mule,  he  endeavoured  to  increase  his  speed. 

"  It  cannot  be  —  without  befitting  attendants,"  re- 
monstrated the  other,  "  and  in  advance  of  a  motley 
crowd  of  lousy  pilgrims !  " 

"  Nay,  but  it  is !  "  snarled  the  protonotary.  "  There 
is  not  another  man  on  the  island  with  a  bearing  like  his." 

"  It  does  not  become  your  exalted  lordship  to  trot," 
expostulated  the  dignitary  from  Trapani,  somewhat  out 
of  breath  and  noting  his  companion's  vigorous  efforts 
to  push  on. 

"  It  becomes  every  man,  every  prudent  man,  at  least, 
to  trot,  when  he  knows  himself  observed,"  returned  the 


8  Castel  &cl  /iDonte 

other,  and,  continuing  in  the  pace  he  had  fallen  into, 
he  drew  his  unwitting  companion  after  him,  and  they 
were  soon  lost  to  sight  among  the  dense  crowds  pressing 
toward  the  city. 

"  There  are  banners  of  the  Cenci,  the  Conti,  the  Sal- 
viati,  Savelli,  Massimi  —  why,  this  city  must  be  well- 
nigh  choked  with  this  foreign  multitude !  "  Canaletto  re- 
marked, as  they  slowly  pushed  on. 

"  Some  may  find  lodgings  in  the  old  ruins  in  the 
valley,"  Ottorino  replied.  "  Fear  not,  noble  Canaletto, 
in  this  city,  where  even  the  fountains  flow  wine,  you  will 
not  be  cheated  out  of  your  heritage !  " 

"  I  like  not  wolves  of  too  many  colours  in  one  den. 
Have  the  Orsini  and  Savelli  locked  claws  ?  " 

"  Will  the  bear  sup  with  the  wolf?  The  Orsini  are  for- 
tifying their  Roman  lairs." 

"  With  a  Colonna  as  prospective  pontiff  I  reprove  not 
their  haste,"  Canaletto  laughed  hoarsely.  Then  the  Lom- 
bard cavalcade  pushed  slowly  on  toward  the  gates  of  the 
city. 

It  was  a  gorgeous  and  imposing  spectacle  which  now 
greeted  the  gaze  of  the  leaders.  Extended  before  them 
lay  the  shimmering  bay  of  Palermo,  crowded  with 
gilded  galleys,  whose  richly  decorated  prows,  variegated 
standards,  and  pictured  keels  were  magnificently  relieved 
by  the  burnished  gold  of  the  waves,  while  the  triumphal 
arch,  through  which  the  embassies  from  Italy  had  en- 
tered upon  Sicilian  soil,  rose  majestically  over  the  land- 
ing. The  setting  sun  shed  a  purple  glow  over  La  Zisa, 
the  Arabian  palace  of  William  the  First.  The  leaves 
of  the  lofty  palm-trees,  which  shaded  the  structure,  hung 
motionless  in  the  still,  translucent  evening  air.  In  the 
distance  the  Oreto,  like  a  golden  €erpent,  slipped  sinuously 


Palermo  9 

toward  the  sea.  So  beautiful  and  lofty  was  the  scene 
that  Ottorino  could  not  refrain  from  exclaiming: 

"  Truly  this  is  Italy,  the  land  of  magic !  It  is  not 
only  a  land  to  live  for  —  it  is  a  land  to  die  for ! " 

"An  art  we  all  acquire  at  the  first  trial,"  replied  a 
sonorous  voice,  not  devoid  of  hidden  mockery,  close  at 
the  Lombard's  side.  The  latter  turned  quickly,  and  saw 
the  dark  form  of  a  horseman,  who  had  noiselessly  ap- 
proached over  the  velvety  turf,  having  wheeled  his  coal- 
black  charger  as  if  to  join  the  Lombard  contingent. 

It  needed  not  the  silver  keys  of  St.  Peter  surmounted 
by  a  silver  hawk  with  outstretched  wings,  emblem  of 
Ferrando,  Duke  of  Altamura,  to  inform  the  Visconti 
of  the  quality  of  the  newcomer.  The  high  constable  of 
the  kingdom  of  Sicily  was  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life, 
of  good  stature,  somewhat  spare,  with  sharply  defined, 
but  handsome  Italian  features.  His  eyebrows  had  an 
habitual  curve  downward,  as  if  accustomed  to  brooding 
thoughtfulness,  and  the  mouth  in  repose  had  an  ex- 
pression of  singular  cynicism.  But  when  this  repose 
was  broken,  eyes  and  features  lighted  up  with  a  satirical 
brilliancy,  and  dark  portent  lurked  behind  the  smile  of 
the  finely  chiseled  lips. 

In  his  lugubrious  dress  of  black  velvet,  ornamented 
only  with  a  chain  of  massive  gold  beads,  with  a  black 
feather  drooping  from  the  broad  Spanish  hat  which 
shaded  his  features,  the  duke's  appearance  was  more 
remarked  than  if  he  had  been  apparelled  in  the  gayest 
finery. 

"  Have  I  really  the  happiness  of  meeting  a  scion  of  the 
noble  house  of  Visconti  ?  "  the  duke  exclaimed,  after  a 
lightning  glance  at  the  Golden  Viper.  Then  extending 
his  hand  in  friendly  greeting,  he  continued:    "An  ad- 


10  Castel  ^el  /iDontc 

mirer,  as  I  casually  overheard,  of  all  that  is  beautiful  in 
our  sunny  plains  ?  " 

The  young  Lombard  shrank  unconsciously  from  the 
ready  recognition,  which  he  had  neither  anticipated  nor 
at  this  moment  desired,  but  not  to  be  found  devoid  in 
politeness,  he  grasped  the  proffered  hand. 

"  If  I  obtain  no  other  reward  for  my  journey  across 
the  Apennines,  the  recognition  of  the  illustrious  Duke 
of  Altamura  would  prove  recompense  sufficient,"  he  re- 
plied, with  a  courteous  bend  of  the  head. 

"  What  are  the  latest  tidings  from  the  North  ? "  the 
duke  continued,  reining  in  his  charger  and  continuing 
slowly  by  the  side  of  the  Lombard.  "  I  wager  they 
scent  the  wind  from  Viterbo  even  in  the  valley  of  the 
Po." 

"  It  were  more  fit  for  us,  who  have  spent  some  tedious 
weeks  on  our  south-bound  journey,  to  make  inquiry 
of  you." 

The  duke  smiled,  and  a  strange  light  flashed  in  his 
eyes. 

"  But  how  chances  it  that  the  Golden  Viper  creeps 
toward  the  Sun-soaring  Eagle  ?  " 

The  Lombard  bit  his  lips. 

"  Since  all  Italy  is  making  her  peace  with  Rome,  I 
see  not  why  we  of  Lombardy  should  be  so  unchristian, 
not  to  say  mad,  as  to  alone  withhold  ourselves." 

"  It  is  one  thing  to  carry  your  sins  to  Rome  —  another 
to  bring  them  to  Palermo,"  the  duke  replied,  with  a 
smile.  "  There  is  room  for  all  the  world  at  Rome  and 
the  devil  to  boot." 

"  Not  to  mention  the  saints." 

"  Not  to  mention  below,"  said  the  duke,  pointing  down- 
ward with  a  most  expressive  gesture.  "  For  if  Rome 
should  sink  with  the  weight  of  her  saints,  they  would 


Palermo  n 

make  room  down  there.  They  are  very  polite  people  in 
the  pit,  as  by  right  they  should  be,  being  chiefly  court- 
iers and  great  personages  who  have  left  their  names  in 
chronicles,  great  folk  who  would  be  knocking  their  heads 
against  the  stars  had  they  never  died.  Truly  Italy  has 
awakened  from  her  stupor  —  did  they  all  dream  the 
same  dream,  or  did  one  fool  make  many  ?  " 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  regarding  the  Lombard 
with  a  musing  smile,  then  he  continued :  "  Yet  —  wel- 
come the  effort,  even  if  it  hath  a  Miserere  before  it.  The 
unity  of  Italy  is  a  raving  maniac's  dream.  Your  North- 
ern princes  know  not  the  Southern  temper,  and  your 
ultramontane  fantastics  cannot  shape  Italian  destinies. 
You  are  bound  for  Palermo  on  secret  mission  of  the 
imperial  viceroy  —  nay,  do  not  start,  no  true  son  of 
Italy  ventures  forth  without  a  hidden  clause  under  his 
belt.  We  welcome  the  alliance  of  Lombardy,  and  to 
you,  Matteo  Visconti's  kinsman  and  envoy,  do  we  pledge 
ourselves  to  further  it  as  best  we  may." 

"  Then  I  thank  you  in  my  own  name  and  that  of  my 
noble  kinsman,"  Ottorino  exclaimed,  joyously.  "The 
great  project,  which  brings  all  true  Ghibellines  to 
Palermo,  cannot  know  defeat  with  such  a  puissant  advo- 
cate of  its  cause.  Can  we  but  carry  the  election  at 
Viterbo,  the  Sicilian  kingdom  will  rest  as  on  a  rock." 

"  The  Conclave  is  divided,  and  some  of  the  cardinals 
do  not  hold  that  poverty  is  essential  to  sanctity  —  yet  they 
are  not  immortal.    They  who  live  will  see !  " 

At  this  moment  the  sound  of  a  trumpet  was  heard 
near  at  hand,  and  was  immediately  answered  by  one  more 
remote.  Suddenly  a  body  of  horsemen  in  bright  armour, 
with  spears  set  in  rest  and  banners  streaming,  emerged 
from  the  groves  of  the  Conca  d'Oro.  The  spare,  but 
tall  and  sinewy  figures,  the  pennon  of  the  falcon,  the  buff 


xa  Castel  t>cl  /iDonte 

armour,  the  prodigously  long  spears,  round  shields  and 
crossbows,  the  vast  mustachios  and  beards,  the  small 
fiery  steeds,  the  red  ruffs  around  the  necks,  the  numerous 
leaden  lambs-of-god,  with  which  the  breasts  of  the  riders 
were  studded,  marked  the  troop  to  be  Spanish  or  rather 
Catalan,  for  the  distinctions  at  that  period  were  most 
jealously  guarded. 

The  leader  of  the  party  seemed  to  be  a  horseman  who, 
having  separated  himself  from  the  ranks,  came  riding  at 
a  slow  and  equal  pace  toward  the  cavalcade,  giving  its 
leaders  ample  leisure  to  form  a  correct  idea  of  his  per- 
sonnel. He  was  of  middle  stature  and  of  spare  frame, 
though  so  muscularly  powerful  and  war-worn  that  the 
flesh  seemed  as  tough  as  leather.  The  features  were  lean 
and  haggard,  and  mingled  with  something  of  the  Arab. 
This  was  seen  in  the  hard-cut  nostrils,  thick  lips,  olive 
complexion,  and  coarse  hair,  thick  and  wiry  as  that  of 
a  bull.  The  eye  had  nothing  of  the  mistrust  and  melan- 
choly thought  of  the  Italian,  but  it  was  reserved,  stern, 
and,  so  to  speak,  stonily  determined.  He  was  armed  at 
all  points  in  dull  iron  plate,  with  the  exception  of  the 
head,  on  which  was  a  steel  cap,  worn  in  place  of  the 
weighty  helmet,  which  he  carried  on  the  pommel  of  his 
high  saddle. 

Ottorino's  startled  gaze  rested  upon  the  gaunt  iron 
figure  before  him,  and  either  from  some  indefinable  sus- 
picion which  entered  his  mind,  or  from  some  recollection, 
he  knew  that  he  beheld  the  man  who  was  believed  to  be 
the  instrument  of  the  duke's  unbridled  and  relentless 
ambition,  —  a  man  at  once  a  bloody  soldier  of  fortune 
and  a  crafty  assassin. 

Don  Miguel  Crivello,  the  leader  of  the  Catalans,  had 
hardly  espied  the  duke,  when,  abasing  his  lance  with  an 
appearance  of   deference,   he  approached  the  Lombard 


Palermo  13 

contingent,  surveying  it  with  singularly  fixed  attention. 
The  Duke  of  Altamura  spurred  his  horse  slightly  for- 
ward and  gave  a  haughty  wave  of  his  hand  as  the 
Catalan  drew  rein. 

"  By  the  beard  of  Santiago,  my  lord,"  he  exclaimed, 
"  I  did  not  look  for  you  in  this  company." 

"  Ay,  indeed,  and  why  not  ? "  replied  the  duke. 
"  These  gentlemen  from  the  blue  lakes  of  Lombardy  are 
our  guests  —  tell  your  cutthroats  to  clear  the  path." 

At  a  signal  from  their  leader  the  Catalans  drew  up  to 
one  side.  The  duke,  after  expressing  his  regret  to  the 
Visconti  for  having  to  dispense  for  the  nonce  with  the 
society  of  one  so  high  in  his  esteem,  set  his  horse  in 
motion,  and,  falling  behind  with  Crivello,  was  soon  lost 
to  sight. 

"  111  betide  me,"  Canaletto  muttered  to  Ottorino,  after 
Altamura  and  his  henchman  had  disappeared,  "  or  some 
mischief  is  intended  by  the  duke  and  his  varlet.  If  there 
is  one  species  of  wickedness  this  Ferrando  has  not  com- 
mitted, by  San  Ambrogio,  I  know  not  what  name  he  gives 
it  in  the  confessional." 

"  But  the  Catalan  —  did  you  see  with  what  strange 
looks  he  regarded  us  ?  " 

"  He  should  have  been  smothered  at  his  birth,"  Cana- 
letto growled  between  his  set  teeth.  "  There  is  some- 
thing in  the  air  that  tells  me  we  must  be  on  our  guard." 

"What  have  we  to  do  with  the  duke's  affairs?  We 
came  not  to  solicit  a  benefice  either  from  him  or  his 
patron  saint,  if  he  has  one ! " 

"  The  intercession  of  the  calendar  were  not  too  many. 
He  who  sups  with  the  devil  must  needs  have  a  long 
spoon." 

A  merry  laugh  was  Ottorino's  reply,  and  for  some 
time  they  continued  their  passage  in  silence.    They  made 


14  Caatel  del  /Donte 

but  slow  headway  against  the  ever-varying  multitude, 
which  blocked  the  approach  to  the  Porta  Nuova.  Here 
were  assembled  cardinals  in  their  scarlet  robes  and  purple 
mantles,  barons  and  knights  of  the  empire,  in  glittering 
armour  and  flaunting  livery,  prelates  in  sacerdotal  pomp, 
domestics,  pages,  footmen,  or  staffieri,  in  gorgeous  attire ; 
nobles,  attended  each  by  his  mass  of  armed  retainers ; 
envoys  from  foreign  courts,  displaying  their  respective 
emblems,  each  surrounded  by  his  glittering  retinue,  vying 
with  each  other  in  prodigality  of  decoration,  velveted, 
jewelled,  embroidered,  and  plumed  embassies  from 
Italy,  each  headed  by  its  gonfalonier,  bearing  a  rich 
flag  ornamented  with  some  crest  or  device  —  and  min- 
gling with  all  these  gorgeous  trains,  flooding  the  valley, 
crowning  the  olive-clad  heights,  massed  upon  all  ascents, 
whence  the  most  distant  view  could  be  obtained,  were 
grouped  gazers  innumerable,  pilgrims  and  travellers  from 
every  land  of  the  known  world,  in  every  garb,  and  speak- 
ing as  many  languages  as  at  the  confusion  of  Babel. 
Trumpets  and  drums  resounded  in  every  direction,  and 
over  the  whole  animated  and  dazzlingly  beautiful  spec- 
tacle shone  the  sky  of  a  Southern  Italian  twilight,  like  a 
dome  of  pallid  gold,  adorned  with  all  the  hues  of  the 
rainbow. 

In  order  to  avoid  a  rush  at  the  Porta  Nuova  and  the 
turmoil  and  confusion  inevitably  arising  from  the  simul- 
taneous arrival  of  so  many  embassies,  differing  in  nation- 
ality, rank,  and  number,  Antonio  Pedretti,  the  royal  mas- 
ter of  ceremonies,  had  filled  the  gateway  with  his  portly 
presence,  and  was  watching  with  intense  anxiety  for  the 
precise  moment  when  the  cavalcades  would  disentangle 
themselves  from  the  mass  of  humanity  which  pressed 
upon  their  heels  and  impeded  their  advance.  A  shout 
?irose  from  the  multitudes  gathered  on  the  heights  and 


Palermo  ts 

walls  when  the  Duke  of  Altamura  emerged  from  the 
crowds,  —  a  shout  which  shook  once  more  the  shores  of 
the  Conca  d'Oro,  which  had  so  often  echoed  to  the  wel- 
come of  conquerors.  As  the  most  powerful  vassal  of 
the  Sicilian  kingdom  appeared  under  the  arches  of  the 
Porta  Nuova,  the  master  of  ceremonies  delivered  a  brief 
Latin  harangue,  expressing  his  satisfaction  at  the  happy 
ending  of  years  fraught  with  strife  and  bloodshed.  The 
duke  listened  with  bared  head,  bending  in  assumed  humil- 
ity over  his  steed,  whose  snorts  frequently  disturbed  the 
harangue.  When  at  last  he  recovered  himself  and  turned 
aside,  his  lips  writhed  with  an  ill-suppressed  smile  of 
derision,  but  he  was  relieved  from  further  observation 
by  Antonio  Pedretti,  who,  raising  his  wand  of  office, 
gave  the  signal  to  the  envoys  crowding  the  gateway  to 
advance  in  line  of  procession.  Instantly  the  whole  dip- 
lomatic corps  was  in  motion,  hurrying  and  struggling  for 
precedence.  In  vain  the  master  of  ceremonies  attempted 
to  bring  order,  by  shouting  to  each  one,  as  well  as  he 
could,  his  proper  station  in  the  advance.  The  envoy  of 
the  Palatinate,  a  burly  and  gruif  noble,  representing  the 
seven  electors  of  the  empire,  with  his  retinue  of  young 
German  knights,  pushed  forward  so  vigorously  that  he 
arrived  almost  abreast  of  the  ambassador  of  Alexius 
Comnenus,  the  Greek  emperor,  who,  by  prescription,  had 
precedence  of  all,  being  moreover  highly  favoured  at  the 
court  of  Palermo.  Great  confusion  followed  this  un- 
toward event,  the  rest  of  the  envoys  pushing  forward 
with  such  eagerness  that  the  Duke  of  Altamura,  who 
witnessed  the  entanglement,  laughed  and  exclaimed: 

"  Signori,  at  this  rate  you  will  knock  off  each  other's 
spurs." 

"  None  shall  touch  mine  till  he  hath  first  knocked  off 


1 6  Castcl  &el  /IDonte 

my  head,  signer,"  exclaimed  the  representative  of  Ara- 
gon,  furiously. 

"  Spaniards  and  Aragonese  never  boast,"  remarked 
the  envoy  from  Hungary,  curling  his  lips  in  derision. 
He  vi^as  a  splendid  cavalier,  and  bestrode  his  steed  with 
knightly  grace,  eying  the  stiff  Iberian  with  evident  dis- 
dain, while  the  Byzantine  and  Teutonic  contingents  de- 
filed through  the  gate. 

Aragon  and  Castile  were  suffered  to  pass  unchallenged 
by  those  pushing  upon  their  heels.  They  were  closely 
followed  by  the  Lombard  cavalcade  of  Ottorino  and  his 
warlike  companions.  Having  yielded  precedence  to  the 
representatives  of  these  three  formidable  powers,  the 
other  envoys  of  the  Ghibelline  confederation  now  pushed 
fiercely  on,  obstinately  refusing  to  yield  to  each  other. 
In  vain  did  the  master  of  ceremonies  cite  countless 
authorities  in  matters  of  precedence;  his  voice,  though 
loud  and  shrill,  was  stifled  by  the  uproar.  Swords 
flashed  in  the  purple  dusk,  and  the  envoys  of  Bologna 
and  Ferrara  were  at  sharp  and  angry  parley.  The  mul- 
titudes from  the  different  provinces,  grouped  on  every 
place  of  eminence,  caught  the  spirit  of  the  contest,  and 
their  tumultuous  cries  and  gestures  seemed  to  prelude 
an  imminent  outbreak  of  strife. 

"  The  Signoria  is  the  oldest  friend  of  the  dynasty," 
shouted  a  pompous  Venetian,  "  and  as  such  —  " 

"  We  represent  the  king's  most  tried  and  loyal  allies," 
remonstrated  the  envoy  from  Genoa,  "  and  as  such  — " 

"  Venice  yields  precedence  to  none  but  the  empire." 

"  We  are  first  as  the  emperor's  most  faithful  vassals," 
shrieked  a  cavalier  under  the  banner  of  Pisa,  who  headed 
his  company  of  men-at-arms  with  a  broadaxe  in  his 
hand,  the  edge  of  which  he  turned  over  his  mighty 
shoulder. 


Ipalermo  17 

The  Duke  of  Altamura  at  this  juncture  commenced  a 
policy  of  reconciliation,  perceiving  the  inability  of  the 
master  of  ceremonies  to  quell  the  disturbance.  As  he 
appeared  on  his  coal-black  charger  under  the  massive 
gate,  his  person  became  distinctly  visible  to  the  immense 
multitudes,  and  the  sinister  gloom  of  his  habilirnents 
produced  a  singular  effect.  Some  faint  attempts  at  a 
shout  were  audible;  these  died  away  in  indistinct,  awe- 
struck mutters,  were  renewed,  then  passed  into  utter 
silence. 

"  I  will  ride  between  you  and  the  envoy  from  Genoa," 
said  the  duke,  turning  to  the  Venetian  during  the  first 
lull  in  the  uproar.  "  As  first  peer  of  the  kingdom  I  may 
surely  be  allowed  this  day  to  choose  my  own  company." 

"  Now  by  the  Lion  of  San  Marco,  I  will  not  yield  to 
Grenoa  nor  the  whole  maritime  fraternity  combined,"  re- 
plied the  Venetian,  suiting  his  action  to  his  speech  and 
dashing  forward,  without  heeding  the  duke. 

"  San  Ambrogio  to  the  rescue ! "  shouted  a  dark, 
slightly  hunchbacked  knight,  with  grim,  forbidding  fea- 
tures, urging  his  steed  with  headlong  violence  through 
the  crowd,  while  he  fiercely  beckoned  his  followers  on- 
ward. 

"  Lanciotto  Malatesta !  "  exclaimed  the  Venetian,  draw- 
ing rein.  "  Nay,  the  odds  are  too  much  against  us,  but, 
Signor  Pedretti,  take  notice  that  I  herewith  withdraw 
myself  from  the  procession,  because  I  am  not  allowed 
my  proper  place  in  it." 

"  Your  proper  place,  magnificent  signor,"  stammered 
the  master  of  ceremonies. 

"By  San  Marco!  Is  it  at  the  tail  of  the  men  who 
cannot  face  us  on  the  seas  ? "  returned  the  frowning 
noble.  "  Here  is  my  gauntlet  against  the  best  of  you 
that  denies  the  right  to  the  Winged  Lion  to  march  before 


i8  Castel  t>cl  /iDonte 

all  but  the  Imperial  Eagles.  Defiance  to  Genoa  —  de- 
fiance to  Pisa ! " 

Many  a  hand  was  instantly  on  the  lance,  many  a 
steed  received  a  golden  spur,  when  the  aged  Cardinal  of 
Messina  urged  his  mule  between  the  enraged  contestants. 

"  Know  ye  not,  bold  signori,"  he  exclaimed,  "  that  we 
journey  to  a  peaceful  triumph,  and  that  in  this  holy 
season  of  Christian  love  and  fellowship,  which  we  have 
assembled  to  celebrate,  it  behooves  none  to  wield  brand 
or  dagger  ?  " 

There  was  at  once  a  lull  of  submission.  Lances  sank, 
steeds  were  checked,  and  order  restored.  Slowly  through 
the  vaulted  gateway  the  procession  moved  into  the  city, 
and  though  the  hues  of  twilight  fell  purple  upon  the 
multitudes,  the  splendour  of  the  effect,  as  they  entered, 
could  hardly  be  surpassed.  Helmets  and  mitres  flashed, 
plumes  soared,  banners  streamed,  lances  sparkled,  a  rain- 
bow effulgence  of  colour  glowed  along  the  rich  groups 
in  their  superb  liveries.  All  the  discordant  peals  of  mili- 
tary music,  softened  amid  the  general  tramp  and  murmur, 
were  harmonized  into  one  gorgeous  triumphal  melody. 
A  poet  might  have  imagined  that  he  was  gazing  on  an 
antique  Roman  spectacle,  when  conquerors  returned  with 
the  spoils  of  nations.  The  splendour  of  the  show  pro- 
duced its  effect  on  the  vast  mob  that  worshipped  the 
hero,  in  whose  honour  and  glory  the  cities  of  Italy  had 
sent  to  Palermo  their  most  splendid  embassies,  and  when 
the  procession  reached  the  Kassaro,  the  principal  thor- 
oughfare, which  had  still  retained  its  Arabian  name,  the 
shouts  of  welcome  seemed  to  shake  the  very  foundations 
of  the  city.  The  bells  of  all  the  churches  burst  into 
simultaneous  peals,  and  kept  up  their  stirring  melody 
during  the  entire  advance  of  the  cavalcades  from  the 
region  of  the  Porta  Nuova  to  the  Piazza  del  Duomo. 


Palermo  19 

At  the  same  time  immense  bonfires  were  kindled  on  the 
adjacent  hilltops,  and  vast  pyramids  of  fire  ascended 
above  the  cypress-trees.  The  evening  twilight,  redden- 
ing with  the  reflection  of  the  fires,  added  new  and  strik- 
ing hues  to  the  procession  as  it  passed  up  the  Via  Porto 
Castro,  beneath  the  curious  old  tower  of  San  Nicolo,  and 
by  the  ancient  convent  of  San  Salvatore,  which  had  been 
founded  in  a.  d.  1072  by  Robert  Guiscard.  Thence  the 
multitudes  turned  into  the  Via  del  Pronotaro,  the  palaces 
on  each  side  of  which  were  hung  with  costly  ornaments, 
tapestries,  garlands,  and  banners,  inscribed  with  glori- 
fying inscriptions.  In  this  district  lay  the  chief  strength 
of  the  city,  the  great  squares  being  environed  by  the 
palaces  of  the  chief  barons,  while  the  adjoining  streets 
were  inhabited  only  by  their  clients  and  retainers. 

The  column  headed  by  Ottorino  Visconti  had  reached 
the  dark  square  extending  between  the  fortresslike  palaces 
of  the  rival  factions,  Geracci  and  Corvaja,  when  the 
entire  procession  came  to  a  precipitate  halt.  For,  stretch- 
ing across  the  piazza  before  the  church  of  Santa  Maria 
Catena,  were  drawn  up  as  in  order  of  battle  the  serried 
iron  ranks  of  the  Suabian  knights,  headed  by  Landulf  of 
Trent,  representing  in  his  person  the  interests  of  the 
youth  Conradino,  son  of  Emperor  Conrad  IV.,  and  suc- 
cessor upon  his  maturity  to  the  imperial  crown  of  the 
Holy  Roman  empire.  Marvelling  at  a  delay  which  was 
likely  to  increase  the  confusion  of  the  armed  masses, 
Ottorino  glanced  around  for  Signor  Pedretti,  when  his 
gaze  met  the  sombre  form  of  the  Duke  of  Altamura 
suddenly  emerging  in  the  foreground.  There  was  a 
glitter  of  fierceness  in  his  eyes  as  he  inquired  into  the 
cause  of  the  delay,  which  so  affrighted  the  soldier  to 
whom  he  spoke  that  he  could  not  reply.  But  Count  Lan- 
dulf of  Trent,  slowly  approaching,  informed  the  duke, 


9i>  Cartel  &el  /iDonte 

with  a  countenance  by  no  means  so  full  of  regret  as 
were  his  words,  that  his  Germans  had  refused  to  lower 
their  standards  before  that  of  the  Saracens,  to  whom  had 
been  entrusted  the  defences  of  the  city,  and  had  set  up 
their  own  flag  on  the  ramparts,  claiming  the  removal 
of  their  ensign  might  be  construed  as  a  mark  of  homage 
to  the  infidels,  a  thing  which  the  German  spirit  would 
never  permit  or  endure.  On  the  other  hand,  Sidi  Yus- 
suff's  Saracens  refused  to  make  room  for  those  northern 
barbarians,  as  they  contemptuously  styled  the  Suabian 
knights.  Their  leader  informed  the  duke,  with  a  smile 
of  dull  malice,  that  he  awaited  his  decision,  knowing 
that  by  this  act  he  had  increased  the  dilemma  in  which 
the  high  constable  of  the  kingdom  found  himself.  And 
a  dilemma  it  was,  which  did  not  escape  the  duke's  pene- 
tration, for  it  seemed  that  he  must  either  suffer  an  in- 
sult to  be  offered  to  the  imperial  standards  before  the 
gaze  of  all  Christendom,  offend  the  chosen  allies  of  the 
king,  or  exhibit  his  own  weakness  in  a  vain  attempt 
at  compelling  a  submission,  which  the  high-strung  Ger- 
mans were  not  likely  to  yield. 

A  moment's  musing,  however,  showed  the  duke  not 
only  both  horns  of  the  alternative,  but  suggested  to  him 
an  escape  which  even  allowed  him  to  reap  an  advantage 
from  the  situation.  He  turned  to  an  archer  of  the  Cala- 
brian  guard. 

"  Inform  Don  Crivello  and  his  Catalans,  stationed  be- 
yond the  bridge  of  King  Roger,  to  meet  me  at  once  with 
their  standards  flying,  and  to  occupy  the  walls  of  the 
city."  After  the  archer  had  sped  upon  his  errand,  the 
duke  turned  to  the  Saracen  leader.  "  You,  Sidi  Yussuff, 
withdraw  your  companies  to  the  Piazza  Martorama,  but 
let  none  pass  your  ranks.  If  afterward  the  Germans 
assail  you,  help  yourselves  as  best  you  can." 


Palermo  ax 

The  fierce  flash  of  the  duke's  eyes  fell  upon  the  dis- 
comfited features  of  the  Teuton,  but  so  rueful  was  his 
countenance,  that  the  duke  laughed  aloud.  In  this  laugh- 
ter the  whole  mass  of  spectators  joined,  for,  by  his  ruse, 
the  duke  had  placed  his  own  men  upon  the  defences  of 
the  city,  depriving  Suabians  and  Saracens  alike  of  their 
important  trust. 

Count  Landulf  tarried  irresolutely;  he  glanced  at  the 
Sicilians  and  Apulians,  —  they,  too,  were  laughing;  he 
glanced  at  his  own  men-at-arms,  —  they  sat  demurely  on 
their  large  steeds ;  then  he  also  laughed. 

But  the  sound  of  his  laughter  suddenly  stilled  that 
of  the  assemblage. 

Something  he  probably  meant  to  say,  perhaps  to  do, 
which  would  have  sorely  compromised  the  newly  restored 
peace  between  Church  and  State,  when  the  attention  of 
every  one  was  suddenly  caught  and  absorbed  in  a  report 
not  unlike  the  outbreak  of  a  volcano.  The  whole  area  in 
the  background  surrounding  the  gloomy  pile  of  the  Torre 
del  Diavolo  appeared  as  if  disgorging  a  sea  of  flames, 
which  seemed  to  flow  over  the  walls  in  streams  of  crim- 
son fire.  The  first  thought  which  entered  the  mind  of  the 
duke  was  that  some  dissatisfied  soldiery  had  set  fire  to 
the  old  tower,  but  his  alarm  in  an  instant  turned  to  won- 
der when  the  seeming  overflow  curled  up  its  torrents, 
rushing  almost  to  the  skies,  and  formed  a  pyramid  of 
fire,  the  base  of  which  was  as  broad  as  the  immense  tower 
from  which  it  rose.  The  pyramid  seemed  then  to  rise  in 
the  air  until,  by  some  wondrous  and  as  it  seemed  magical 
device,  its  base  rounded,  hollowed,  and  changed  into  a 
crown  of  laurels  of  the  purest  flame.  Beneath  the  ex- 
traordinary effulgence  of  this  illumination,  the  piazza, 
palace,  clock-tower,  and  the  great  mosque  of  Abdurrha- 
man  changed  to  crimson  their  purple  garb  of  dusk.    But 


3s  Castel  ^el  A)onte 

the  wonders  in  store  exceeded  these.  A  black  cloud  sud- 
denly rushed  over  the  battlements,  and  sounds  as  of  a 
wild  tempest  were  heard,  with  gleams  of  jagged  lightning 
darting  through  its  dense  vapours.  The  cloud  gradually 
grew  thinner  and  brighter  in  its  centre,  until,  as  if  behind 
a  veil,  the  figure  of  a  woman  appeared,  of  perfect  sym- 
metry of  outline,  but  with  averted  face.  She  wore  a 
black  robe,  girded  at  the  waist,  with  what  appeared  in 
the  distance  a  silver  serpent,  and  seemed  engaged  in  some 
mysterious  ceremony,  waving  overhead  the  drooping 
branch  of  a  willow-tree. 

"  In  Our  Lady's  name, — what  may  this  be?  "  exclaimed 
Landulf  of  Trent,  crossing  himself  repeatedly  and  turn- 
ing to  his  silent  Germans. 

"  Surely  this  is  not  the  work  of  the  sorceress  of  the 
tower  ? "  replied  aghast  a  man-at-arms  standing  near 
the  German  leaders. 

*'  Sorceress  ?  What  sorceress,  idiot  ?  "  exclaimed  the 
duke,  fiercely,  turning  upon  the  soldier,  whose  remark 
he  had  overheard. 

"  The  nun  who  is  imprisoned  there,  who  was  abducted 
from  holy  convent,  your  Grace,"  answered  the  latter,  con- 
fusedly. 

"  A  crown  and  laurels  and  Francesca !  "  muttered  the 
duke,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  the  man-at-arm's  speech  in 
his  absorption. 

The  populace,  not  understanding  the  drift  of  the  flam- 
ing allegory,  applauded  it  with  a  terrific  shout.  The 
duke,  as  if  fired  with  a  gorgeous  vision  which  filled  his 
imagination,  bent  to  the  people  with  the  majesty  of  an 
emperor  receiving  his  crown.  But  almost  at  the  same 
instant  his  flushed  countenance  grew  pale,  his  teeth  be- 
came clenched,  and  his  eyes  stared  wildly  and  fixedly 
forward. 


Palermo  23 

The  pressure  of  the  crowds  struggling  to  accompany 
the  now  advancing  procession  had  almost  separated  Ot- 
torino  from  the  company  of  Altamura.  The  duke  had 
volunteered  to  escort  the  Lombard  embassy  to  the  Moor- 
ish palace  of  Khalesa,  which  by  orders  of  the  king  had 
been  placed  at  their  disposal.  When  the  quaint  old  relic 
of  the  Arab  dominion  over  Sicily  at  last  appeared,  in- 
numerable attendants  were  spied  ready  and  waiting  to 
administer  to  the  comforts  of  Ottorino  and  his  company. 
With  a  smile,  the  young  Visconti  turned  to  his  grim 
subordinate,  who  had  been  unusually  silent  since  they 
had  entered  the  city,  and,  justly  attributing  his  sullen 
demeanour  to  a  longing  for  the  vintage  of  his  native 
Lombardy,  he  said: 

"  Cheer  up,  Canaletto !  We  now  enter  the  Mahom- 
etan paradise,  into  which  not  even  the  black  camel  death 
may  cast  its  shadow." 

"  I  love  a  smart  saying,  but  better  a  full  cup !  "  growled 
that  worthy,  smacking  his  tongue.  "  Lead  me  to  a  cloister, 
well  stocked,  all  day  to  sing,  all  night  to  drink,  —  I  care 
not  for  your  fool's  paradise." 

"  Patience,  blasphemer !  Thou  shalt  soon  be  the  most 
immortal  drunkard  on  this  island,  and  the  devil  bid  for 
thy  society  against  the  saints !  " 

"  I  care  not  how  soon !  The  Moorish  custom  is  to  begin 
by  washing  the  stranger's  feet.  Canaletto's  custom  is 
to  begin  by  washing  his  throat.  The  individual  vanishes 
before  the  cause,  as  my  old  master  observed  when  he 
drank  the  Capuchin  under  the  table!  Ay,  and  if  the 
vintage  find  favour  in  mine  eyes,  I  will  with  these  three 
fingers  pluck  three  hairs  from  the  beard  of  the  Sultan 
of  Damascus,  —  by  the  mass,  I  have  sworn  it." 

"An  heroic  resolve,"  returned  Ottorino,  "but  mean- 
while beware,  lest  the  Sicilian  women  rob  thee  of  thy 


24  Caatel  &el  /Donte 

capillary  quills  ere  thou  startest  on  thy  pilgrimage  to  the 
great  Sultan." 

The  cavalcade  had  now  arrived  at  the  gates  of  the 
Moorish  palace,  behind  which  lay  the  fragrant  gardens, 
hidden  from  view  by  a  stone  wall  of  the  height  of  half- 
grown  palms.  At  slow  pace  the  Lombards  passed  under 
the  archway  adorned  with  Kufic  inscriptions,  and  were 
soon  lost  to  sight  in  the  shades  of  this  Mahometan  Buen 
Retire. 


CHAPTER   II. 


LORD  AND   FOLLOWER 


The  moon  had  risen  high  in  the  heavens,  and  Palermo 
lay  sleeping  in  the  stillness  of  the  southern  night. 

High  up  on  one  of  the  hills  just  outside  the  town  a 
succession  of  precipices  rose.  These  were  connected  at 
one  point  by  a  narrow  bridge,  half-hidden  in  the  deep 
shadows  of  the  overhanging  shrubbery.  Far  below  the 
cataract  thundered,  its  white  foam  scarcely  visible,  so 
great  was  the  depth  of  the  chasm. 

Suddenly  a  man  closely  muffled  emerged  from  the 
darkness  of  the  shrubbery,  and,  pausing  on  the  crest 
of  the  steep  incline,  surveyed  with  calm  attention  the 
scene  before  him.  The  waters  rushed  in  one  vast  body 
over  the  highest  pile  of  rocks,  and  fell  headlong  on  to 
another,  where  they  were  separated  into  a  hundred  differ- 
ent torrents.  These  torrents  lashed  themselves  into 
furies  of  foam,  and  flung  themselves  downward,  leaping 
from  one  precipice  to  another.  Above  towered  the  dark 
masses  of  Monte  Pellegrino,  and  below  lay  the  beautiful 
valley  of  the  Conca  d'Oro,  with  Palermo  in  its  midst. 

After  watching  the  wild  beauty  of  the  scene  for  awhile, 
the  Duke  of  Altamura  walked  toward  the  bridge,  imi- 
tating most  accurately  as  he  went  the  mournful  cry  of  the 
screech-owl. 

"  'Tis  a  grim  height,"  the  duke  said  to  himself,  paus- 
es 


26  Castel  ^el  HDonte 

ing  as  if  to  calculate  the  possibilities  of  a  jump  below, 
"  no  ill  place,  forsooth,  to  be  alone  with  one's  enemy. 
'Tis  so  easy  to  slip  accidentally." 

"  I  was  just  considering,  your  Grace,  that  even  with  all 
the  advantages  of  suddenness  and  treachery  such  sport 
might  be  dangerous,"  replied  a  dark  figure,  which  stepped 
from  behind  a  tree. 

"  Ah !  'tis  you,  Crivello !  "  exclaimed  the  duke,  eying 
the  newcomer  with  distrust.  "  Why  glare  you  so  stealth- 
ily ?     I  know  —  you  are  my  friend." 

"  I  mean  to  be,  signor ! "  replied  Crivello,  calmly. 
"  But  shall  I  tamely  lose  the  recompense  of  all  my  toils 
in  pursuance  of  your  timorous  policy  ?  " 

"  Timorous  ?  "  returned  the  duke,  fiercely.  "  You  are 
of  that  metal  which  persistently  spoils  with  your  ruffianly 
brawls  the  triumphs  of  diplomacy.  The  Duke  of  Alta- 
mura  bides  his  time !  " 

"  But  if  this  proposed  union  of  the  Ghibellines  be 
accomplished,  what  is  your  future  kingdom  but  a  name 
without  a  span  of  land  ?  What  is  my  promised  dukedom 
but  a  trumpet  full  of  alarums  without  a  substance  ?  " 

"  Your  suppositions  fall  as  thick  and  fast  as  hail,"  re- 
plied the  duke.  "  But  remember,  though  prophecies  may 
mock,  fate  shall  not ! " 

A  wild  light  shone  in  his  brilliant  eyes  as  he  con- 
tinued : 

"  Could  I  but  see  again  that  withered  old  wizard  of 
Padua,  that  half-madman,  half-sage,  who  was  wont  to 
assist  me  when  but  a  visionary  schoolboy  I  studied  the 
black  arts,  the  while  our  long-bearded  master  imagined 
that  I  was  buried  in  the  dust  of  St.  Augustine  and  St. 
Jerome." 

"  He  did  show  you  a  vision,  as  the  rumour  goes,  in 
a  mirror,  formed  of  one  vast  amethyst,"  replied  Crivello, 


Xorb  ant>  ^follower  »7 

in  a  tone  slightly  dubious,  "  at  least,  so  it  is  vulgarly 
reported  in  Italy;  also,  that  the  skilful  graybeard  was 
the  devil  himself." 

"  Did  you  go  to  school  there  yourself,  that  your 
memory  so  readily  retains  the  facts?  And  what  prattles 
the  mob  concerning  the  vision  which  the  wizard  showed 
me  by  his  felonious  art  ?  " 

"  A  skeleton  with  a  crown  upon  his  eyeless  skull, 
wrapped  in  the  mantle  of  royalty,  and  offering  his  sceptre 
to  your  kneeling  form." 

"  It  is  false,  by  San  Grennaro,  it  is  false,  and  whoever 
says  'tis  true  I  will  have  boiled  in  a  caldron  of  oil !  " 
exclaimed  the  duke,  with  fierce  vivacity.  "  It  was  a 
shadow  wearing  the  imperial  crown  and  mantle  of  Charle- 
magne, and  looking  as  we  behold  his  effigy  in  the  monkish 
chronicles.  It  offered  me  his  sceptre  and  sword,  twisted 
together  with  the  likeness  of  a  serpent." 

"  Your  Grace  has  read  the  lesson  well,"  replied  the 
Catalan,  "  and  I  know  that  you  think  your  master  has 
taught  you,  his  favourite  pupil,  all  his  tricks.  Yet  be- 
ware that  he  has  not  reserved  one  which  may  fail  you 
at  the  last." 

"  I  will  make  good  my  dream  despite  your  raven's 
croaking,"  said  the  duke,  with  a  smile,  in  which  lurked 
a  dark  underthought. 

Crivello  made  no  reply  beyond  raising  his  feathered 
cap  half-ironically.  As  he  did  so  a  great  mass  of  light, 
suddenly  flashing  from  behind  the  craggy  side  of  the 
rocks,  revealed  a  singular  scene  below. 

Along  the  bed  of  the  stream  moved  a  procession  of 
monks,  carrying  a  bier  illumined  by  numberless  torches. 
Their  monotonous  chant  broke  for  a  brief  space  of  time 
the  intense  stillness.     Then  the  echoes  died  softly  away 


»8  Castcl  6el  /iDontc 

and  the  procession  disappeared  behind  the  lower  ledges 
of  the  rocks. 

The  duke  and  Crivello  had  watched  intently  the  sin- 
gular spectacle,  the  solemnity  of  which,  however,  ap- 
pealed but  little  to  their  present  mood,  for  the  duke 
turned  suddenly  to  his  follower: 

"  Marked  you  nothing  extraordinary,  —  nothing  baf- 
fling human  ken  about  the  walls  of  our  tower  at  sunset  ?  " 

Crivello  nodded  assent. 

"  It  is  even  so !  My  own  eyes  have  witnessed  what 
reason  rebels  to  accept." 

"  Francesca  affects,  indeed,  to  use  the  offices  of  Moors 
and  Turkish  slaves,  but  there  are  some  who  report  they 
saw  strange,  grisly  forms  of  brightness  and  darkness 
mingled,  which  flew  about  obeying  her  behest ! " 

"Ay!  The  vulgar  deem  everything  great  which  lies 
beyond  the  pale  of  their  understanding,  measuring  it  by 
their  own  base  incapacities,"  Crivello  replied,  contemp- 
tuously. 

"  But  if  she  has  discovered  secrets,  what  then  ?  Was 
not  Pope  Sylvester  II.  a  potent  magician?  Yea,  and 
Benedict  IX.,  and  Gregory  VII.?  But,  Crivello,  seeing 
how  well  I  managed  my  affairs  on  the  mainland,  deem 
you  that  I  need  the  sleeve  of  Hildebrand,  from  which  he 
shook  thunder  and  lightning,  or  the  flute  of  Benedict, 
with  which  he  enchanted  women  to  follow  him  over  hill 
and  dale?  And  as  for  our  bird  in  the  torre  —  at  last 
then  Francesca's  lofty  spirit  bows  down  before  me  like 
flame  before  the  magician's  wand." 

"  God's  life,  signor  —  what  hope  can  she  haye  remain- 
ing but  from  your  Grace's  favour  ?  "  exclaimed  the  Cat- 
alan. 

"  Yes,  and  she  loves  me,"  said  the  duke,  with  a  scorn- 
ful smile,  adding,  in  a  darker  tone :  "  And  she  alone  per- 


Xor&  an&  jfoUower  a^ 

haps  of  all  the  women  who  have  ever  told  me  so !  Surely, 
Crivello,  I  am  a  deep  Platonic,  seeking  as  I  perpetually 
do  the  ideal  of  beauty,  and  finding  only  disappointment 
in  all  its  forms." 

"  Signor,  in  my  opinion,  for  I  am  not  versed  in  the 
pedagogue's  litany,  Donna  Francesca  approaches  the 
nearest  to  the  perfection  of  all  loveliness,"  said  the  Cata- 
lan, starting  to  observe  that  his  superior  suddenly  paused, 
as  if  he  had  seen  a  snake  in  his  path. 

"  Why  —  you  repeat  but  a  common  tale,  Crivello,"  the 
duke  replied,  rapidly  pacing  up  and  down.  "  Is  she  not 
as  famous  throughout  Italy  as  Helen  was  in  Greece? 
Ay,  and  more  than  famous,  for  men's  blame  spreads 
wider  than  their  praise  —  you  know,  Crivello.  Else  how 
chances  it  that  all  your  deeds  of  arms  are  outblazoned 
by  deeds  of  guile,  for  you  are  called  a  cutthroat  much 
oftener  than  a  soldier.  But  our  absence  has  encouraged 
Francesca  in  her  pranks,  —  what  is  she  doing  now  ?  " 

Crivello  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  That  you  should  rather  ask  the  sage,  who  can  look 
into  the  future  and  behind  doors,  locked  and  barred,  a 
gift  my  poor  eyes  do  not  possess.  But  if  I  may  venture 
a  surmise,  she  is  most  likely  practising  some  dark  in- 
cantation in  a  tomb,  perchance  some  love-spells,  to  lure 
you  back  to  the  old  worship." 

"  Then  I  shall  begin  to  deem  her  possessed  of  a  science 
beyond  the  common  skill  in  the  black  herbs  of  death. 
And  yet  I  feel  as  if  my  ancient  love  were  rekindling 
from  its  ashes  in  my  heart.  Methinks  I  loved  her  once 
before  I  loved  ambition.  But  saw  you  never  a  black 
wizard  in  her  company,  a  wizard  whose  skill  mocks  hers 
to  clouds  and  vapours,  one  Dom  Alamo,  of  whom  I 
spoke  to  you  ?  " 

Crivello  made  a  negative  gesture. 


30  Castel  ^el  /iDonte 

"  Signer,  no  —  I  have  not  seen  him." 

The  duke  nodded  musingly;  then  he  suddenly  turned 
with  an  expression  of  fierce  scrutiny  on  his  captain. 

"  I  think  you  often  strangely  mistake  my  humour, 
Crivello,  or,  wherefore  think  you  that  I  am  animated  by 
so  persevering  and  exterminating  a  hatred  of  the  suitors 
for  the  hand  of  our  fair  kinswoman,  the  lady  of 
Miraval?" 

"  Why  ?  Because  —  the  evil  fiend  may  strike  me  if  I 
know  —  unless  it  be  that  your  Grace  deems  all  unworthy 
of  your  future  greatness,"  replied  Crivello,  shuddering 
beneath  the  serpent  eyes,  which  by  their  spell  held  his 
own. 

"  Partly  so,"  replied  the  duke,  in  a  gratified  tone,  "  but 
also  because  this  same  sorcerer,  this  same  Dom  Alamo, 
who  showed  to  me  my  imperial  fortune,  at  the  same  time 
raised  for  me  a  phantom,  crowned  with  a  diadem,  whose 
glory  even  outglared  the  lustre  of  Charlemagne.  And 
think  you  that  I  will  suffer,  if  I  can  prevent  it,  the  wreath, 
which  I  must  acquire  with  toils  and  care  so  mighty,  to 
pass  into  the  hands  of  one  whose  power  by  this  marriage 
will  counterbalance  my  own?  For  he  who  possesses  her 
incomparable  beauty  and  her  love  would  snatch  heaven 
from  the  gods  and  usurp  their  throne  in  his  maddening 
bliss." 

"  It  were  hardly  rational  to  expect  your  Grace's  con- 
sent thereto,"  replied  the  Catalan.  "  But  I  do  indeed 
marvel  at  the  persistency  of  those  who  remark  not  one 
returning  claw-print  in  the  sand." 

"  Who  can  give  reasons  for  a  woman's  doings  ? " 
replied  the  duke,  with  dark  significance.  "Let  rumour 
have  her  sway,  let  the  mob  believe  the  very  worst,  there 
may  be  still  deeper  policy  in  it.  These  accidents  dazzle 
the  aim  of  suspicion." 


%ovt>  ano  ifollower  S« 

**  Ay  —  but  the  remission  ?  " 

A  scornful  laugh  broke  from  the  lips  of  the  duke. 

"  The  chair  of  St.  Peter  was  at  first  of  very  plain  wood. 
Another  Arnold  of  Brescia  might  be  found  who  would 
strip  the  Church  as  naked  as  she  was  born,  and  turn  her 
out  of  Constantine's  doors  as  meek  and  ragged,  as  holy 
and  beggared,  as  she  entered  them.  So  great  a  service 
might  win  Heaven's  pardon  for  many  little  malefactions, 
and,  besides,  'tis  in  my  thought  some  day  to  redeem  the 
holy  sepulchre  from  the  infidels.  I  tell  you,  Crivello,  I 
have  had  ill  offices  done  me  by  his  late  Holiness,  and 
who  can  look  into  the  future  ?  The  cardinals  banter  and 
procrastinate  and  parade  their  jealousies  before  the  eyes 
of  Christendom.  But  no  more  of  this.  The  hour  will 
fetch  the  man.  We  have  matters  closer  at  hand.  These 
sudden  deaths  are  suspected,  and  the  herbs  are  getting 
scarce.  We  must  find  our  two  apothecaries.  Their  trade 
is  brisk  and  they  ought  to  be  monstrously  rich." 

"  They  are  so  much  so  that  they  would  have  been 
murdered  long  ago  if  they  were  not  witches." 

"  You  will  seek  them  out  at  once.  We  may  have 
need  of  their  art.  But  meanwhile  I  want  some  stout 
knaves  to  strike  with  the  open  steel,  so  that  the  blame  may 
fall  on  some  grizzly  outlaw.    Know  you  some  such  ?  " 

"  Signor,  the  Cardinal  of  Sienna  has  issued  a  decree 
of  banishment  to  all  banditti  in  the  states  of  the  Church." 

"  Why,  so  the  consistory  that  was  has  issued  a  decree 
of  deposition  'gainst  all  the  usurpers  in  the  peninsula," 
returned  the  duke.  "  But,  noble  captain,  it  is  by  no  means 
essential  that  the  bravi  must  be  from  consecrated  terri- 
tory; besides,  where  did  you  find  the  men  who  met  old 
Gravina  at  the  convent  of  the  Franciscan  friars  ?  " 

"  The  bungling  villains !  They  gave  him  a  dozen 
wounds  and  not  one  mortal,  leaving  it  ^or-  a  poor  gentle- 


3»  Castel  t>cl  /Dontc 

man  of  your  Grace's  to  strangle  him  in  his  bed  after 
all,"  said  the  Catalan,  grumbling. 

"  That  reminds  me  —  are  you  certain  that  yonder  fool 
of  the  ceremonies  did  not  note  you  on  that  occasion? 
He  is  the  very  ass  to  listen  to  a  message  of  state  com- 
pliment, and  was  it  not  with  some  such  folly  you  gained 
admittance  to  the  boaster's  bed  of  sickness?  I  do  often 
mark  some  strange  significance  in  his  eyes." 

"  If  I  thought  so  —  "  said  Crivello,  with  a  short  and 
most  emphatic  gesture.  "  But  as  I  persuaded  him  I  came 
from  his  late  Holiness  to  bring  him  absolution  from  his 
sins,  he  would  as  lief  have  misdoubted  the  archangel  Ga- 
briel coming  direct  from  heaven  and  beating  the  air  with 
his  white  and  golden  wings." 

"You  rave,  Crivello,  or  else  you  are  mad,"  exclaimed 
the  duke,  with  a  derisive  smile. 

"  Nay,  signor,  I  was  but  remembering  the  scene  of  the 
annunciation  in  the  church  of  the  hermits  on  Monte 
Aventino,"  replied  the  captain,  with  a  low  deference. 

"  And  you  remember  it  to  good  purpose,  for  soon  you 
shall  wander  again  amidst  its  leafy  wilderness  —  not  to 
meditate  upon  the  former  greatness  of  the  city,  nor  to 
weep  over  the  mighty  that  have  fallen,  but  upon  a  mission 
much  suited  to  your  tastes.  How  many  wounds  did  you 
say?  It  would  have  made  his  mother  weep  had  she  not 
gone  before  him  —  before  the  fox  stole  into  her  hen- 
roost. But  he,  who  boasted  that  he  would  win  our  fair 
kinswoman,  even  if  all  the  demons  of  hell  stood  between 
him  and  his  happiness  —  he,  who  boasted  that  he  would 
love  her  so  that  she  would  perforce  learn  to  love  him  — 
why  stare  you  so,  Crivello?  Know  you  not  that  there 
is  a  love  spiritual,  a  reflection  of  the  flame  burning  in 
our  soul,  a  love  without  that  material  earthiness  —  but 
what  were  we  discussing?    He  possessed  a  strong  fancy 


Xor&  ant>  follower  33 

and  a  glowing  imagination,  that  boy  with  the  shadow 
of  a  crown  encircHng  his  fair  head;  he  would  rave  at 
her  beauty  till  men  were  faint  with  rage  to  hear  him 
prate.  And  yet  I  say  he  died  not  ill  in  the  flush  of 
youth,  that  tramontane  lover  of  our  Helena,  and  he  went 
to  his  grave  in  the  full  belief  that  she  connived  at  his 
death." 

"  And  it  should  have  chilled  the  fire  of  my  lady's 
adorers,  this  sudden  and  mysterious  end  of  that  love- 
enwrapped  seraph,"  said  Crivello,  with  a  disgusting 
smile. 

"  They  are  stark  mad,"  exclaimed  the  duke,  "  else 
would  they  think  that  the  Duke  of  Altamura,  rejecting 
an  emperor's  offspring,  would  cast  his  kinswoman  into 
the  arms  of  the  first  beggarly  minstrel  who  whines  his 
love-ditty  under  her  bower?  But,"  he  continued,  after 
a  brief  pause,  "who  is  sane?  A  few  starving  labourers, 
perhaps,  toiling  after  their  plough,  and  not  puzzling  their 
brains  over  the  carcasses  of  their  fellow  men.  But  we 
have  strayed  from  our  subject,  the  banditti.  They  are 
not  so  completely  banished  from  these  regions  as  you 
would  have  me  think,  Crivello.  I  wager  that  you  do 
not  relinquish  your  old  associates  without  knowing  where 
you  might  rejoin  them." 

"  Your  pardon,  noble  signor,  I  am  in  your  Grace's 
service,  but  I  must  refuse  acknowledging  such  humil- 
iating company,"  said  Crivello,  with  an  offended  air. 

"  It  is  my  turn  to  ask  your  pardon,  most  noble  cut- 
throat and  knight  of  the  gallows,  for  confounding  you 
with  your  betters,"  replied  the  duke,  with  an  ironical 
bow.  "  And  now  you  will  perhaps  condescend  to  vouch- 
safe us  some  information  regarding  those  knights  of  the 
mace  and  the  highway,  who  fight  for  honour,  but  never 
for  pay  ?  " 


34  Castel  t)el  /IDontc 

Crivello  bit  his  lower  lip. 

"  Perchance  it  may  be  that  Scrivezzo  still  lingers  in 
some  of  his  old  haunts,"  he  then  replied,  reluctantly, 
wincing  under  the  scrutinizing  eye  of  the  duke. 

"I'll  warrant  then  he  has  as  many  worthy  coadjutors 
at  his  beck  as  would  set  all  Rome  and  Sicily  in  blaze." 

"  More  than  enough  to  plunder  the  whole  city  at 
night,"  replied  the  Catalan,  with  a  sudden  kindling  of 
enthusiasm. 

"  Ha !  Would  not  his  Eminence  of  Sienna  rave  could 
he  hear  you  now?  But  what  manner  of  policy  would 
it  be  to  kill  the  hen  that  lays  the  golden  egg?  I  would 
but  know  on  whom  I  can  depend,  in  case  the  worst  should 
befall.  Some  there  are  who  have  done  me  marvellously 
ill  offices  with  the  late  Holy  Father,  and  whispered  strange 
tales  into  the  old  man's  ears  —  strange  tales,  Crivello! 
It  is  well  that  old  people  will  die." 

"  Scrivezzo  might  perhaps  be  discovered  by  a  good 
pair  of  eyes  in  Palermo,  for  he  cannot  read,  and  the 
edict  is  posted  in  Latin,"  remarked  Crivello,  with  in- 
creasing interest. 

"  It  suffices  if  we  know  where  to  find  him  in  time  of 
need,"  replied  the  duke,  thoughtfully.  "  A  tumult  raised 
by  them  were  dangerous.  Yet,  since  at  some  day  we 
intend  to  take  up  our  residence  in  the  Eternal  City,  the 
cardinals,  in  view  of  these  constant  and  unceasing 
brawls,  surely  cannot  fail  to  see  the  necessity  of  our 
forces  occupying  the  chief  points  of  interest  —  just  to 
become  acquainted  with  their  history.  And  all  the  points 
of  strength  save  the  tomb  of  Hadrian  are  now  in  pos- 
session of  the  German  knights  of  the  new  senator,  good 
and  faithful  men,  'tis  true,  but  perhaps  not  so  devoted 
as  it  would  appear.  These  matters  crave  our  earnest 
attention,  Crivello,  although  I  have  others  of  even  more 


Xor&  ant>  follovoct  S^ 

instant  urgency.  'Tis  a  pity  you  have  no  scholarship, 
else  you  might  read  the  list  furnished  me  by  his  hunch- 
backed Grace  of  Alife.  You  might  then  see  the  names 
and  hiding-places  of  the  captains  of  all  the  black  bands 
in  Italy,  who  will  for  remission  of  their  sins  brave  the 
very  devil  in  his  lair !  " 

"What  would  such  knowledge  benefit  me,  noble  si- 
gnor  ?  "  said  Crivello,  somewhat  surprised. 

"  Nay,  it  would  only  benefit  me,  who  shall,  as  it  is, 
be  compelled  to  read  you  the  names,"  remarked  the  duke, 
carelessly.  "  For  I  would  have  you  use  your  own  dis- 
cretion to  understand  how  these  religious  freebooters 
stand  affected  toward  me,  whether  they  would  prefer  to 
join  the  standards  of  the  Church  to  receive  absolution,  or' 
mine  to  receive  pay." 

"  I  know  not,  signor,  that  they  would  believe  me  if  Ij 
offered  more  than  they  already  drain  out  of  the  lords; 
who  employ  them,"  said  the  captain,  dubiously  eying 
his  chief. 

"  But  if  these  lords  were  all  gone,  and  the  best  of  us 
will  die  some  day,  would  they  not  need  a  new  master? 
And  would  it  not  be  wise  to  be  first  in  the  field  ?  "  ques- 
tioned the  duke.  "  Moreover  —  can  you  not  sing  them 
some  fine  song  of  ducal  bonnets  and  princes'  feathers, 
of  golden  spurs  and  Spanish  castles,  especially  to  the 
Germans,  who  without  some  exterior  distinction  hold 
themselves  cheated  out  of  their  birthright  ?  " 

"  Would  your  Grace  then  have  me  tamper  even  with 
the  retainers  of  the  Church?"  said  Crivello,  following 
at  a  slower  and  more  reluctant  step  the  swift  movements 
of  his.  superior. 

"  Would  your  captainship  ever  desire  to  bear  a  loftier 
title  ? "  returned  the  duke,  pettishly.  "  But  what  a 
thick-skulled  fool  you  are !    Believe  you  that  I  mean  to 


3^  Castel  ^el  /iDonte 

uproot  the  very  soil  upon  which  I  build  my  stronghold? 
And  again,  deem  you  that  Manfred,  the  Ghibelline,  would 
have  raised  me  to  the  exalted  position  of  High  Constable 
of  the  Kingdom  were  he  not  convinced  that  my  intents 
are  sincere?  And  that  reminds  me  that  I  must  have  a 
trusty  intelligencer  at  Rome.  Poor  Ascanio  is  gone,  it 
seems." 

"  The  Duke  of  Lesina  was  pleased  to  take  it  into  his 
head  that  it  was  he  who  informed  you  of  some  transac- 
tions in  his  territories,  and  he  hung  him  from  the  weather- 
cock of  his  castle,  whence  he  was  taken  down  but  a 
few  days  ago,"  said  the  Catalan,  laughing. 

"  We  shall  persuade  him  out  of  that  belief,  were  it 
nailed  in  his  mind  as  tight  as  a  bad  coin  on  a  Greek's 
change-table,"  said  the  duke,  fiercely.  "  But  meanwhile 
poor  Ascanio  is  certainly  gone,  and  we  must  find  some 
one  to  supply  his  place.  That  was  an  excellent  artifice 
of  the  Greeks,  when  they  maltreated  Sinon  and  so 
procured  him  entrance  into  Troy.  What  if  your  Scri- 
vezzo  set  upon  some  fellow  of  our  choosing  in  the 
vicinity  of  Lesina's  castle  and  permitted  him  to  escape 
into  it  for  refuge  ?  " 

"A  goodly  plan,  noble  signor,  at  the  proper  time," 
replied  the  captain,  "and  then  under  some  pretext  of 
gratitude  to  enter  into  his  service." 

"You  are  nimble-witted  for  once,  though  your  tone 
is  apprehensive,"  said  the  duke,  with  an  outburst  of 
ironical  mirth.  "  It  were  not  amiss,  either,  that  we  had 
one  or  two  more  observers  about  our  fair  kinswoman, 
for  in  these  times  of  peacemaking  and  general  rejoicing, 
as  many  lovers  will  be  glistening  in  her  beauty  as  motes 
in  the  sunshine." 

The  Catalan  shook  his  head. 

"Nay,  my  lord,  we  can  trust  Fra  Cyrillo,  who  learns 


Xort)  ant)  ^follower  37 

everything  from  her  confessor,  whom  he  attends.  I 
wonder  how  so  wise  and  gloomy  a  man  can  trust  so 
much  to  such  a  shallow-brained,  gossiping  babbler." 

"  Wise  —  gloomy  ?  "  repeated  the  duke,  in  a  startled 
tone.    "  Has  she  changed  her  confessor  in  our  absence  ?  " 

"  A  Dominican,  —  Fra  Domenico,  —  as  stern  and  un- 
bending as  the  decree  of  judgment." 

The  duke  stood  for  a  moment  like  one  transfixed,  his 
penetrating  gaze  riveted  upon  the  Catalan.  Then,  as  if 
remembering  himself,  he  slightly  waved  his  hand. 

"  Even  so  —  even  so !  It  is  a  great  refreshment  for 
men  of  dark  and  melancholy  turn  of  mind  to  sometimes 
divert  their  fancies  with  those  empty,  shallow-brained 
wits,  whose  wisdom  floats  lightly  as  cork  upon  the 
water." 

"  Yet  is  this  Fra  Domenico  a  monk  of  strange  de- 
meanour, that  might  have  been  a  bishop  and  prefers  to 
be  but  a  simple  friar.  Does  that  not  demonstrate  in  him, 
my  lord,  a  poor  and  grovelling  spirit  ?  "  questioned  the 
Catalan,  with  the  implicit  curiosity  of  one  expecting  an 
oracle,  which  the  extraordinary  penetration  of  the  duke 
sometimes  gave  forth.  "  Though  it  is  for  that  very 
reason  of  his  humility  and  holy  unconcern  of  this  world's 
affairs  that  I,  too,  have  chosen  him  for  my  confessor,  and 
go  to  him  ever  when  my  breast  hath  need  of  a  bitter 
purgative  to  feel  at  rest." 

"  Dare  you  go  to  him  with  any  secret  of  mine  in  your 
breast,  as  you  call  your  fleshly  corselet  below  the  steel  ?  " 
said  the  duke,  with  sudden  fierceness. 

"  Nay,  my  lord,  for  no  Christian  is  bound  to  confess 
the  sins  of  another,  and  all  that  I  do  in  your  Grace's 
service  I  leave  to  your  Grace's  reckoning,"  Crivello  re- 
plied, in  a  rather  frightened  tone. 

**Do  as  you  will  for  that,"  said  the  duke,  pacified  by 


3^  Castel  ^el  /l>onte 

the  avowal  of  this  singular  principle  of  morality.  "  But 
this  Dominican  either  has  no  ambition,  or  he  has  so 
much  that  all  the  gratifications  yet  oflFered  to  him  are 
beneath  his  aim.  And  hark  you,  captain,  I  would  have 
you,  when  you  are  again  fearful  of  forgetting  your  sins 
in  their  multitude,  carry  them  to  some  other  confessional, 
for  at  times  your  peccadilloes  are  so  closely  interwoven 
with  mine  that  you  may  make  a  slight  mischance  in  re- 
counting and  show  the  woof  by  the  thread." 

"  But,  my  lord,  I  cannot  sleep  at  times,"  Crivello  in- 
sisted, imploringly. 

"  Then  lie  awake  and  plot  more  mischief,  like  your 
betters,"  replied  the  duke,  sternly;  then  he  added,  with 
a  meaning  smile,  "  Or,  if  you  must  needs  prattle,  go 
to  some  silly,  round-bellied  friar,  who  lives  and  lets  live, 
and  sets  men  on  no  such  foolish  penances  as  I  have  seen 
you  perform,  standing  in  frozen  steel  in  a  winter's  night, 
muttering  your  Pater  Nosters  to  the  crows  on  the  ram- 
parts." 

"  But  it  seems  to  do  my  soul  good,  signor,  and  I  feel 
no  comfort  when  I  am  set  at  easy  penance,  for  whoever 
easily  pardons  sins  like  mine  knows  not  his  trade,"  said 
the  pious  follower  of  the  duke. 

"  Your  soul !  Do  you  believe  in  these  monkish  dreams 
and  dare  to  be  what  you  are?  Alas,"  the  duke  added, 
with  a  sardonic  smile,  "  you  have  not  been  with  me  in 
the  schools  of  Padua,  where  they  weigh  and  sift  and 
analyze  the  thing  which  you  call  soul,  dissolve  it  into 
dust  and  water,  and  pronounce :  Non  est." 

"What  avails  that,  your  Grace,  when  none  of  your 
sapient,  long-bearded  doctors  can  compound  the  ele- 
ments they  have  dissolved  —  though  they  be  but  dust  and 
water?"  replied  the  Catalan. 

"  Why,    now   you   talk   not   altogether   like   a   thick- 


Xort)  ant)  ^follower  39 

skulled  Catalonian,"  said  the  duke,  somewhat  startled 
by  the  reply.  "  But  my  beautiful  Francesca's  spell  be- 
gins to  work.  My  heart  yearns  to  clasp  her  once  more 
into  these  arms,  though  she  may  chide  and  rave  like  a 
woman  who  has  her  own  objects  before  her,  like  fiends 
evoked  by  a  mighty  magician." 

"  You  bid  me  advise  her  of  your  Lordship's  intent  ?  " 

"  I  never  send  heralds  to  prepare  others  for  my  com- 
ing or  to  invite  them  to  deceive  me,  especially  as  women 
rarely  need  the  invitation,"  returned  the  duke.  "  Hold 
everything  in  readiness  at  the  torre,  set  the  watch  your- 
self, but  breathe  to  no  mortal  the  meaning  of  your  action." 

Crivello  bowed. 

"  I  would  go  to  paradise  on  my  own  merits,  small 
though  they  be." 

"  It  is  a  wise  resolve.  How  old  Lesina  will  chafe  and 
growl  and  clench  his  fists  and  hold  his  peace,  ha,  ha! 
while  we  hie  ourselves  to  our  fair  Francesca,  burning  to 
appear  at  court,  burning  to  again  show  her  face  among 
women,  among  her  own  kind." 

"  Then  you  will  not  lead  forth  the  lady  and  proclaim 
her  your  wife,  my  lord  ?  " 

"  You  rave,  Crivello,  verily,  you  rave !  Proclaim  the 
minion  for  my  wife  ?  The  Duke  of  Altamura  fetter  him- 
self with  the  toy  of  his  leisure  hours,  that  would  change 
to  a  weight  of  lead  when  conscious  of  its  power,  and 
drag  him  who  confesses  himself  its  slave  down  —  down 
—  down  —  ha !  Never !  She  gave  herself  to  me  for  my 
love,  let  her  be  content  with  that  love  while  she  has  it. 
And  now  begone  and  report  to  us  at  sunrise.  Meanwhile 
send  the  African  to  me,  but  let  no  one  note  either  his 
coming  or  your  going,  and  let  him  bring  the  hounds  with 
him." 

"  They  are  here,  signor,"  said  Crivello,  pointing  to  the 


40  Cadtel  ^el  /iDonte 

dogs,  who  in  silence,  with  dejected  step  and  brooding 
heads,  had  followed  their  master. 

"  Poor  beasts,  they  are  accustomed  to  be  thus  cheated 
out  of  their  reward,"  said  the  duke,  compassionately  pat- 
ting the  heads  of  the  two  savage  brutes  of  the  blood- 
hound breed.  "  But  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost,  Crivello ! 
I  will  sit  and  watch  the  bear  in  the  skies  until  I  have 
given  Zem  his  orders,  and  then  rejoin  you  in  the  castle." 

Crivello  bowed  and  withdrew. 

Retracing  his  steps  up  the  steep  path  among  the  rocks, 
the  Catalan  could  not  refrain  from  pausing  once  on  a 
projecting  precipice,  whence  he  could  easily  distinguish 
the  pine-tree  at  the  trunk  of  which  the  duke  was  lean- 
ing, then  he  strode  away  and  was  soon  lost  to  sight. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE  BLACK   PENITENT 

Crivello  had  not  advanced  very  far  in  the  ravine, 
when  the  personage  of  whom  he  was  in  search  luckily 
presented  himself ;  an  African  Moor,  one  of  the  miserable 
victims  of  Oriental  cruelty  and  jealousy,  who  had  for- 
merly been  a  mute  in  a  Turkish  seraglio,  where  his 
tongue  had  been  slit  in  a  manner  which  rendered  any 
attempt  at  speech  an  inarticulate  babble.  But  discretion 
was  a  quality  which  the  duke  esteemed  in  his  instru- 
ments, and  this  enforced  silence  made  the  Moor  doubly 
acceptable  to  his  European  master,  in  whose  household 
he  was  ranked  as  first  runner  to  his  Grace.  Of  his 
capabilities  in  his  former  office,  although  never  osten- 
sibly employed,  extraordinary  stories  were  afloat;  of  his 
qualifications  as  runner,  still  more  singular  legends  were 
believed.  He  always  travelled  on  foot  and  in  a  straight 
line,  swimming  rivers  and  crossing  mountains  and  val- 
leys with  equal  facility. 

The  Moor's  appearance  would  have  gratified  the  most 
daring  expectations  which  might  have  been  based  upon 
his  rather  questionable  renown.  If  a  panther  had  stood 
upright  upon  its  hind  legs,  with  its  paws  abjectly  dropped 
in  front,  it  would  have  been  the  exact  counterpart  of  the 
Moor.  Its  huge,  round,  bestial  visage,  hairy,  black,  and 
brindled,   with   the  same   wild-beast   expression   of  the 

41 


4a  Gastel  C)el  /l>onte 

eye,  would  have  daguerreotyped  the  countenance  of 
Altamura's  runner.  In  fact,  he  had  Httle  more  than  a 
rough  resemblance  to  the  general  attributes  of  humanity, 
and  but  one  or  two  shades  of  the  feelings  common  to 
humankind,  among  which  the  most  abject  respect  and 
obedience  to  his  terrible  master  might  have  been  reck- 
oned. 

The  few  simple  words  which  the  Moor,  scarcely  at  all 
acquainted  with  the  language  of  Italy,  understood,  en- 
abled him  to  comprehend  the  Catalan's  order,  who,  after 
having  delivered  himself  of  his  commission,  convulsively 
clutched  the  hilt  of  his  dagger  and  strode  away  toward 
the  city.  The  African  in  turn  hastened  down  the  ravine 
with  such  rapidity  that  it  almost  appeared  as  if  he  had 
doubled  himself  up  and  was  rolling  down  like  a  dry  bush 
of  furze.  By  whatever  means  he  gained  a  footing  in  the 
ravine,  the  Moor  speedily  made  his  way  toward  the  ap- 
pointed spot,  indicated  by  a  lofty  pine  of  singular  ap- 
pearance, in  that  it  was  entirely  bare  with  the  exception 
of  a  strangely  tufted  summit.  He  found  his  lord  with 
folded  arms,  walking  restlessly  up  and  down  on  a  strip 
of  green  turf  beneath  it. 

"  Zem,  thou  art  weary,  my  good  dog ;  I  almost  wish 
I  had  not  diverted  myself  with  seeing  thee  chase  the  stag 
in  the  hills,"  the  duke  said,  in  a  mild  and  somewhat 
cajoling  manner.  "  But  I  know  thy  great  love  for  me. 
Did  I  not  beg  thy  life  when  the  great  Sultan  of  Damas- 
cus slashed  thee  once  in  the  neck,  and  had  raised  his 
scimitar  for  a  second  blow  ?  " 

The  Moor  acquiesced  with  a  slight  snort,  like  that  of 
a  horse  when  it  perceives  danger. 

"  Yet  thou  must  start  for  Bari  to-night,  wert  thou 
thrice  as  spent,"  continued  the  duke,  changing  his  tone 
to  one  of  command.     "  At  the  inn  with  the  dragon's 


Ube  3BlacK  penitent  43 

head  thou  wilt  find  Ghino  di  Tacco,  the  great  Calabrian 
bandit.  Take  this  ring  as  thy  credential,  and  deliver  into 
his  hands  the  scroll  wrapped  in  this  silken  kerchief." 

Zem  knelt,  took  the  ring  and  the  scroll,  and  placed 
them  on  his  head  in  token  of  obedience. 

"  Follow  the  course  of  the  Oreto  to  where  the  barge 
awaits  thee  —  thou  knowest  the  rest,"  continued  the 
duke,  and  the  runner  made  a  spring,  as  if  to  dart  forward 
on  his  journey,  but  his  lord  with  a  rapid  clutch  detained 
him. 

"  Delay  not  on  thy  journey  as  long  as  would  a  hunted 
stag  to  lap  in  a  stream,"  he  said,  and  pointing  to  the 
moon,  which  shone  serenely  above,  he  continued : 

"  In  an  hour  yonder  light  will  sink  behind  the  hills. 
When  its  last  rim  has  disappeared  I  shall  loosen  my 
hounds  in  thy  traces,  so  if  thou  pause  to  sleep,  thou 
knowest  by  what  thou  wilt  be  overtaken." 

The  Moor  again  bowed  reverentially,  as  if  the  super- 
vision indicated  were  a  very  proper  and  usual  one,  shot 
away  like  an  arrow  from  the  bow,  and  was  almost  in- 
stantly out  of  sight. 

As  it  seemed  with  the  intention  of  faithfully  keeping 
his  promise,  the  duke  remained  on  the  spot  which  he  had 
selected  for  the  interview,  pausing  some  time  in  deep 
reflection,  and  then  resuming  his  restless  perambulation, 
without  noticing  that  the  two  hounds  never  failed  to 
follow  him,  however  short  the  trip  or  sudden  the  turn. 

Ajid  yet  it  was  a  scene  and  a  night  which  might  have 
given  calm  even  to  that  perturbed  and  restless  mind. 
The  mountains  of  the  Bagaria  towered  in  a  remote  semi- 
circle, in  a  kind  of  transparent  darkness,  so  bright  were 
the  heavens  above,  and  so  soft  the  shadows  which  the 
moonlight  cast  among  their  rugged  sides  and  aerial  pin- 
nacles.   The  distant  roar  of  the  cataract  rather  harmon- 


44  Castel  t>cl  /l^onte 

ized  with  than  disturbed  the  deep  silence  of  night  and 
of  the  slumbering  forest  and  plain. 

But  the  duke's  steps  rather  increased  in  fretful  rapidity, 
and  his  eyes  shot  impatient  sparks,  as  he  occasionally 
glanced  up  at  the  moon.  At  last  he  became  weary  of  this 
exercise,  and,  leaning  his  back  against  the  pine,  his  face 
upturned  to  the  fair  planet,  he  seemed  to  watch  it  as  if 
his  gaze  could  hasten  or  retard  its  imperceptible  move- 
ment over  the  skies.  The  two  dogs  seated  themselves  at 
the  side  of  their  master,  and  appeared  as  if  engaged 
in  the  same  occupation,  for  their  red,  glistening  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  ball  of  light  above.  While  the  hounds  and 
their  lord  were  apparently  absorbed  in  this  survey,  the 
former  suddenly  uttered  a  low  whine,  stretched  their 
noses  to  the  wind,  and  began  to  tremble  in  a  very  strange 
and  unusual  manner.  The  duke,  after  a  sidelong  glance 
at  the  dogs,  looked  in  the  direction  whence  it  was  evident 
they  apprehended  some  approach,  expecting  to  behold 
some  wild  beast  which  had  strayed  hither,  yet  for  some 
moments  even  his  vulture  gaze  could  discern  no  object. 
But  suddenly  a  black  form,  about  the  height  and  breadth 
of  a  man,  but  without  the  distinct  outlines  of  one,  ap- 
peared on  the  edge  of  the  precipice.  The  duke's  visage 
for  a  moment  grew  pale  as  death  and  his  gaze  became 
fixed  as  he  clutched  at  the  pine  to  support  his  tottering 
limbs ;  but  the  next  instant  either  his  self-possession  re- 
turned, or  his  terror  took  the  form  of  defiance.  He 
sprang  forward,  and  although  he  paused  irresolutely, 
he  shouted  in  an  unwavering  tone : 

"  Speak  —  who  goes  there  ?  Friend  or  foe  to  the  Duke 
of  Altamura  ?  " 

"  Hi,  hi,  hi !  Hi,  hi,  hi !  Hillo  echoes !  Hillo  phan- 
toms !  Play  me  none  of  your  cheats  to-night ! "  a  voice 
was  heard  gibbering  in  reply,  the  mere  sound  of  which 


XTbe  Blacfi  penitent  ^ 

restored  the  duke  to  himself.  He  continued  to  watch, 
but  no  longer  with  any  alarm,  the  gradual  approach  of 
the  dark  traveller,  who  came  along  with  singular  slow- 
ness, as  if  he  were  of  very  great  age,  and  talking  to 
himself  all  the  way.  But  the  fears  of  the  hounds  did  not 
diminish.  They  crouched  on  the  grass  and  continued 
their  low,  tremulous  whine.  The  stranger  approached, 
without  seemingly  noticing  any  of  the  group.  In  any 
other  age  or  country  he  might  indeed  have  been  pro- 
nounced a  terrific  object. 

His  form  was  greatly  bent  by  age  and  his  gait  was 
feeble.  With  difficulty  he  supported  himself  on  a  staff; 
but  his  face  and  form  were  completely  covered  with  a 
dark  mantle  made  of  one  piece,  but  tied  around  the  waist, 
and  perforated  with  holes  over  the  face,  through  which 
the  eyes  peered.  This  was  the  garb  of  a  black  penitent, 
and  was  enjoined  to  be  worn  on  a  pilgrimage  by  crimi- 
nals of  the  greatest  atrocity. 

"  Good  even,  father !  Whither  are  you  bound  so  late 
at  night  and  so  lonely  ?  "  queried  the  duke,  in  a  cheerful 
tone,  as  if  relieved  from  some  secret  apprehension. 

"  Lonely  ?  When  the  owl  hoots  arid  the  wolf  howls 
at  every  turn  ?  "  replied  the  penitent,  with  a  wild  laugh. 

"  Have  I  not  heard  that  voice  before  ? "  spoke  the 
duke,  musingly,  "Why  —  art  thou  come  as  if  a  wish 
had  summoned  thee?  Art  thou  not  mine  ancient  master 
in  the  black  art,  Dom  Alamo  of  Padua,  who  put  strange 
thoughts  into  my  head  by  showing  me  my  fortune  in  a 
mirror  of  bronze,  and  who  one  night  disappeared  like  the 
will-o'-the-wisp  which  gleams  on  pools  where  murdered 
men  lie  rotting?" 

"  Or  like  yonder  tongues  of  fire  on  the  hillsides,"  re- 
turned the  penitent,  extending  an  arm  of  singular  length, 
terminated  by  a  hand  so  lean  and  withered  that  it  re- 


4^  (Tastel  t)el  /IDonte 

sembled  the  branch  of  a  fir-tree  in  winter,  and  pointing 
to  the  brow  of  Pellegrino,  which  presented  a  brilHant 
phenomenon  not  unusual  in  volcanic  regions.  The  craggy 
sides  of  the  mountain  seemed  as  if  set  at  intervals  with 
blazing  torches,  thrust  from  the  earth  by  spirit  hands, 
for  they  appeared  and  disappeared  in  fantastic  evolu- 
tion. 

"  But  thou  art  he?  "  said  the  duke,  after  gazing  with 
an  instant's  careless  attention  at  the  spectacle  on  the  hill- 
sides. 

"  I  have  been  myself  for  a  long  time,"  replied  the  peni- 
tent, with  a  dark,  chuckling  laugh. 

"  Yes,  thou  art  old  —  very  old,  and  thou  needest  some 
comfort  in  thine  old  age,"  remarked  the  duke,  cajolingly, 
"  I  am  not  so  poor  or  so  powerless  to  do  my  friends  a 
good  turn  as  I  was  when  we  studied  the  Cabbala  together 
at  Padua,  and  I  still  love  to  encourage  the  science. 
Therefore,  my  good  wizard,  if  thou  wilt  consent  to  so- 
journ with  me,  thou  shalt  have  a  tower  of  thine  own  and 
practise  thy  black  art  night  and  day,  and  thou  and  I 
will  make  brazen  heads  that  chatter,  and  devise  antidotes, 
and  study  the  plants  that  carry  such  subtle  poison  that 
it  shall  be  a  veritable  pleasure  to  die  from  their  effect. 
And  play  with  such  like  toys  as  thou  wert  wont  to  love 
in  the  olden  time  when  I  was  thine  attentive  and  faith- 
ful pupil." 

"  I  thank  thee  for  thy  noble  offer,"  replied  the  peni- 
tent, inclining  himself  forward,  as  if  to  do  homage  to 
the  accession  of  dignity  in  his  pupil,  yet  with  a  degree 
of  mockery  in  his  voice.  "  But  it  behoves  men  who  have 
lived  over  twelve  hundred  years  to  think  of  dying  and 
to  abjure  the  vanities  of  this  world." 

"  Twelve  hundred  years !  Thou  ravest !  Thou  art 
stark  mad,  Dom  Alamo !  "  exclaimed  the  duke,  aghast. 


Ube  Blacft  ipenitent  47 

"  Ah !  Little  thou  knowest  how  long  Heaven  can  hate," 
returned  the  penitent,  with  wild  vehemence.  "  'Tis  many 
a  hundred  years  since  the  great  bonfire  was  kindled,  and 
he  who  spat  in  the  face  of  the  Son  of  God,  when  he  bore 
his  cross  to  Calvary,  still  wanders  alone  through  all 
time." 

"  Yet  —  what  objection  canst  thou  have  to  remain  with 
me?  Thou  possessest  many  a  noble  secret  which  might 
be  useful  even,  to  the  Church,"  said  the  duke,  soothingly. 
"  Have  I  not  seen  thee  raise  the  dead  in  the  person  of 
that  imperial  phantom  that  held  out  the  sceptre  to  me  ?  " 

"  What  would  it  help  or  profit  to  call  him  up  again, 
besides  shaking  the  towers  of  Aix-la-Chapelle,  which  are 
already  so  old  and  tottering?  "  replied  the  penitent. 

"  Thou  speakest  truly !  But  if  thou  canst  raise  the 
dead,  canst  thou  not  also  allay  them?  Canst  thou  not 
bid  them  back  into  their  lone  grave?  Why  should  they 
blot  sunshine  with  their  dark  presence  ?  "  exclaimed  the 
duke,  with  an  impatient  and  fierce  glitter  of  the  eye,  and 
convulsively  knitting  his  hands. 

"  To  exorcise  is  the  office  of  the  Church,  not  mine ! " 
returned  the  black  penitent. 

"  I  know,  I  know  what  priests  can  do,"  replied  the 
duke ;   "  I  have  been  one  myself." 

"And  stand  the  dead,  too,  in  thy  light?"  returned 
the  penitent,  his  strange  eyes  flaring  through  their  holes 
like  flames  —  if  flames  could  glow  with  meaning,  with 
sarcastic,  diabolical,  insane  thought. 

"Thou  art  deft  at  guessing  riddles,"  said  the  duke, 
calmly.  "  It  is  not  that  I  fear  him,  but  it  wearies  me, 
when  so  often  in  the  midst  of  a  banquet  or  splendid 
feast  I  raise  mine  eyes  and  behold  him  standing  before 
me.  Think  not  that  I  fear  him !  I  despised  him  living 
—  I  despise  him  dead!    I  tell  thee,  Dom  AJamo,  when 


48  Cadtel  Del  /iDonte 

first  I  beheld  it,  when  as  legate  of  the  Holy  See  I  was  at 
the  court  of  Frederick's  bastard,  I  did  not  even  start." 

"  Thou  givest  vent  to  some  feverish  fancy,  my  son,  the 
strongest  of  thy  recollections  haunts  thee  —  one  which 
only  a  stronger  can  efface,"  replied  the  penitent,  with  a 
short,  discordant  laugh.  "  But  thou  forgettest  to  slip  the 
hounds,  and  the  moon  is  nearly  set  beyond  the  mountain 
peaks." 

"  Didst  thou  hear  my  threat  to  Zem  ?  "  the  duke  re- 
plied, with  a  slight  shudder.  "  But  I  never  threaten  in 
vain,  else  I  should  be  no  better  served  than  mine  enemies, 
so  —  whoop,  hounds !    After  him  —  after  him !  " 

He  stirred  the  hounds,  which  still  lay  crouching  and 
panting  in  the  grass,  as  if  the  presence  of  the  stranger 
infused  terror  even  into  their  savage  natures.  They 
whined,  but  would  not  move. 

"  There  is  surely  a  spell  about  me,  but  I  am  going," 
observed  the  penitent,  with  his  dark,  inward  laugh. 

"  It  is  late  —  be  my  guest  for  the  night !  "  said  the  duke, 
eagerly,  but  the  penitent  shook  his  head. 

"  I  may  rest  under  no  roof  until  the  mission  I  am  bound 
on  is  accomplished,"  he  said,  in  derisive,  yet  profoundly 
gloomy  tones. 

"  Then  I  will  spend  the  night  with  thee  in  conversation 
under  the  vault  of  heaven." 

"  Nay  —  for  I  may  not  pause,  I  may  not  tarry,"  re- 
turned the  penitent,  taking  his  staff  as  if  to  resume  his 
journey. 

"  But  promise  me  at  least  that  thou  wilt  visit  me  at 
Palermo,"  said  the  duke,  very  eagerly.  "  Thou  hast  but 
to  present  thyself  at  my  palace,  and  I  will  see  thee  lodged 
and  attended  more  zealously  than  ever  Merlin  in  King 
Arthur's  court.    And  thou  shalt  carry  on  thy  black  art 


Ube  3Blacft  ipenitent  49 

so  near  the  priests  and  monks  that  thou  canst  spit  in  their 
faces  and  they  shall  not  harm  thee." 

"  Give  me  a  token,  then,  that  admission  may  not  be 
denied  me,"  replied  the  sage,  after  a  moment's  hesitation. 

"  Then  I  must  needs  give  thee  this  emerald,  which  red- 
dens when  poison  is  in  my  drink,"  said  the  duke,  slowly 
and  somewhat  reluctantly,  taking  a  small  leaden  box 
about  the  shape  and  size  of  a  dice  from  the  pocket  of  his 
coat. 

"  Thou  didst  speak  of  a  remedy  to  efface  the  terror 
that  haunts  me,"  he  then  said,  with  faltering  lips,  while 
he  handed  the  token  to  the  cowled  figure.  "  Name  thou 
the  spell,  for  I  would  fain  be  relieved  of  the  phantom 
which  darkens  my  path  and  chases  the  slumber  from 
mine  eyes." 

The  black  penitent  chuckled  almost  inaudibly. 

"  To  appease  one  shadow,  find  another,  though  it  be 
never  more  than  the  phantom's  pale  reflex." 

The  duke  stroked  his  forehead,  which  was  bathed  in 
cold  sweat. 

"  The  remedy  is  as  mysterious  as  the  ailment ! "  he 
said,  but  perceiving  the  cowled  figure  moving  away,  he 
continued : 

"  Thou  canst  no  longer  fear  that  I  will  betray  thee, 
either  for  lack  of  faith  or  wit,  Dom  Alamo!  So  let  me 
at  last  see  thy  face,  which  thou  keepest  ever  so  strangely 
masked  and  muffled,  that  I  may  know  thee  when  we  meet 
again ! " 

"  Trust  none  —  fear  none !  "  replied  the  penitent, 
gloomily.  "  But  hark !  Some  one  is  calling  thee,  or  else 
what  voices  are  those  that  make  the  rocks  ring  with  their 
echoes  ?  " 

"  Farewell,  then  —  till  we  meet  again !  "  said  the  duke, 
stepping  forward  to  offer  his  hand  in  parting.    But  the 


S<»  Castel  &el  /Ronte 

stranger  contented  himself  with  a  fantastic  salute,  by 
waving  his  withered  hands  in  the  air  at  an  extraordinary 
height,  and,  hastening  forward,  he  almost  instantly  dis- 
appeared behind  some  projecting  rocks. 

Indistinct  voices  were  indeed  heard  in  the  distance, 
but  they  resembled  rather  those  of  the  jackal  and  the  wolf 
than  those  of  a  human  being.  The  hounds  sprang  up 
with  their  wonted  alacrity  the  moment  the  adept  in  the 
black  art  had  disappeared,  and,  remarking  it,  the  duke 
endeavoured,  but  in  vain,  to  induce  the  dogs  to  follow 
even  the  shortest  distance  in  his  trace.  They  howled 
fearfully,  but  would  not  stir  until  he  took  them  back 
to  the  pine-tree  where  the  Moor  had  left  him.  They 
eagerly  followed  his  scent,  and  disappeared  with  emulous 
swiftness.  After  listening  until  the  light  patter  of  their 
feet  had  died  away  in  the  distance  and  had  become  in- 
audible even  to  the  fine  ears  of  the  duke,  the  latter  turned 
his  eyes  pensively  toward  the  moon  which  was  setting 
behind  the  western  hills,  and  retraced  his  steps  toward 
the  city. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE  SHRINE   IN   THE   FOREST 

Canaletto  was  the  first  to  announce  the  break  of  day, 
for,  suddenly  starting  from  his  slumbers,  he  blew  a  blast 
upon  a  horn,  which  chanced  to  be  near  him,  so  loud  and 
so  shrill  that  it  would  have  awakened  King  Arthur  and  all 
his  knights  from  their  petrified  sleep  in  the  Welsh 
cavern.  The  effect  was  instantaneous,  and  Ottorino,  hav- 
ing been  roused  by  the  sound,  which  all  but  threw  the 
Moorish  attendants  into  a  panic,  drew  aside  the  curtains 
of  rich  azure  silk  partially  draping  the  two  large  fold- 
ing doors  opening  out  upon  the  terrace  and  garden  below. 
Looking  out  upon  it  from  between  the  glistening  marble 
columns  surrounding  the  palace,  it  seemed  as  if  the  very 
sky  above  rested  edgewise  on  towering  pyramids  of  red 
and  white  bloom.  Awnings  of  pale  blue  stretched  from 
the  windows  across  the  entire  width  of  the  spacious  outer 
colonnade.  Two  superb  peacocks  strutted  majestically  to 
and  fro  with  boastfully  spreading  tails  and  glittering 
crests,  as  brilliant  as  the  gleam  of  the  sun  on  the  silver 
fringe  of  the  azure  canopies. 

Half-blinded  with  the  brilliancy  of  the  scene,  the  daz- 
zling glow  of  colour,  the  sheen  of  deep  and  delicate  hues 
cunningly  intermixed  and  contrasted,  the  gorgeous  lavish- 
ness  of  waving  blossoms,  that  seemed  to  surge  up  like  a 
sea  to  the  very  balconies,   Ottorino  for  a  time   stared 

51 


S«  Castel  bcl  /iDonte 

vaguely  at  the  floor,  paved  with  variegated  mosaics  and 
strewn  with  rich  Indian  carpets.  There  was  something 
miragelike  and  fantastic  in  the  splendour  that  surrounded 
him,  something  almost  overwhelming  in  the  wealth  of 
this  Arabian  fairy-palace  which  he  had  entered  under  the 
veil  of  night,  something  well-nigh  unreal,  which  caused 
him  to  doubt  if  he  were  waking  or  gazing  upon  the  vision 
of  a  dream.  The  palace  itself  was  a  dome-shaped  build- 
ing of  the  purest  white  marble,  surrounded  on  all  sides 
by  long,  fluted  colonnades  and  fronted  by  a  spacious 
court,  where  flower-bordered  fountains  dashed  up  to  the 
azure  skies  incessant  showers  of  refreshing  spray. 

Ottorino's  reveries  were  to  be  rudely  broken  into  by  the 
grim  champion  of  the  cask,  who,  stepping  under  the  bal- 
cony, appeared  to  give  some  directions  to  a  man-at-arms, 
whereupon  his  oscillating  form  was  seen  to  sway  toward 
the  gates  of  the  court. 

The  Visconti  called  to  the  leader  of  the  condottieri,  in- 
quiring into  the  goal  of  his  early  expedition,  thus  causing 
that  worthy  to  turn,  with  an  endeavour  to  straighten  him- 
self into  perpendicularity  and  to  stand  steadily  on  his 
legs. 

Composing  himself  into  as  dignified  an  attitude  as  he 
could  command,  the  capitano  pointed  to  what  appeared 
to  be  a  cloister.  The  building  was  at  no  great  distance 
from  the  palace,  half-hidden  in  the  green,  and  with  win- 
dows, small  and  round  as  portholes,  which  gave  it  a 
fortress-like  appearance.  The  echoes  of  a  pronouncedly 
secular  chant  were  faintly  audible,  floating  on  the  fitful 
morning  breezes,  which  wafted  the  perfumes  of  innu- 
merable roses,  oleanders,  and  magnolias  through  the 
gardens  of  La  Khalesa. 

"  I  wager,"  he  replied,  "  yonder  are  none  of  your  lean 
and  ghostly  friars,  whose  sanctified  bones  rattle  in  the 


XTbe  Sbrfne  In  tbe  jforeat  s$ 

sirocco,  but  holy  men  with  three  roses  in  their  com- 
plexion, one  in  full  bloom  on  each  cheek  and  one  on  the 
tip  of  their  nose.  I'll  recommend  myself  to  their  hospi- 
tality." 

Ottorino's  gaze  followed  the  direction  indicated;  sev- 
eral round-faced  brothers  in  the  brown  cassocks  of  Bene- 
dictines were  to  be  discerned  through  the  vines  of  a 
pergola. 

"  But  the  hour,  Canaletto,"  the  Lombard  laughingly 
remonstrated.  "  Bethink  thyself !  Canst  thou  ever  hope 
to  attain  the  exalted  state  of  the  angels  in  bliss  ?  " 

"  Angels  in  bliss  ?  "  roared  the  capitano,  inflating  his 
cheeks  and  starting  on  his  legs.  "To  sit  on  a  damp 
cloud  and  chant  hallelujah  for  ever —  I  fear  me  Canaletto 
was  spoiled  for  such  an  airy  sport !  " 

"  So  have  with  thee  —  but  forget  not  thy  devoir  to 
the  Golden  Viper !  "  Ottorino  admonished  the  prospective 
crusader.  Waving  a  fantastic  salutation  with  his  right 
arm,  the  grim  champion  strode  away  and  was  soon  lost 
among  the  leafy  arcades  leading  to  the  goal  of  his  unholy 
desires. 

A  message  from  the  master  of  ceremonies  informed  the 
Lombard  of  the  postponement  of  the  formal  presentation 
at  court,  owing  to  the  delayed  arrival  from  the  mainland 
of  the  brothers  Lancia  and  Capece,  chief  councillors  of 
the  realm.  Far  from  feeling  any  regret  in  the  matter, 
Ottorino  gladly  welcomed  the  tidings,  intending  to  avail 
himself  of  the  opportunity  of  surveying  the  surrounding 
country.  Being  rather  in  a  mood  for  solitary  musing, 
he  determined  to  start  out  at  once. 

It  was  a  morning  such  as  is  only  seen  in  southern 
climes,  the  air  so  pure  and  bright  that  it  seemed  to  reveal 
all  objects  as  if  through  a  shining  medium  of  glass.  A 
faint  rosiness  tinged  the  transparent  blue  of  the  sky,  and 


S4  Castcl  &el  /Donte 

all  the  mountain  peaks  were  touched  with  a  deeper  hue 
of  the  same  beautiful  colour.  The  Conca  d'Oro,  though 
partially  veiled  in  mists,  began  to  disclose  its  richness 
and  variety.  Little  villages  appeared  nestling  at  the 
craggy  bases  of  the  Bagaria;  feudal  castles  towered  on 
remote  pinnacles ;  forests  of  pine  waved  freshly  in  the 
wind;  pastures  of  the  brightest  emerald  green  bordered 
the  Oreto ;  every  fissure,  nook,  and  cranny  of  the  Pelle- 
grino  displayed  wild  flowers  of  brilliant  hues,  every  fan 
of  the  soft  morning  breeze  brought  some  sweet  scent.  So 
fresh  and  lovely  shone  the  scene,  as  he  journeyed  along 
the  wild  path  which  bordered  the  river,  passing  through 
its  tangled  underbrush  of  myrtles,  stunted  vines,  and  high 
weeds,  which  sometimes  nearly  concealed  both  horse  and 
rider,  while  the  loftier  forest-trees  continually  showered 
their  golden  dew  on  him,  that  Ottorino  could  not  help 
repeating  to  himself  the  eulogy  which  his  lips  had  un- 
consciously uttered  when  first  the  Conca  d'Oro  broke  upon 
his  gaze. 

Leaving  Monreale  on  the  right,  Ottorino  entered  upon 
a  narrow  path  leading  along  a  ravine,  honeycombed  with 
almost  prehistoric  cave-dwellings.  These  were  still  in- 
habited by  the  impoverished  descendants  of  the  ancient 
Pelasgians,  who  had  formed  here  a  number  of  colonies. 
Anemones,  tall  and  strong,  cast  their  shadows  over  wild 
mignonettes,  while  graceful  asphodels  surrounded  the  base 
of  the  olive  and  caroub  trees.  In  the  white,  glaring  sun- 
light their  stems  looked  weird  and  unearthly  as  they  bent 
slowly  to  the  sea-breeze.  Their  strange,  pungent  smell 
was  wafted  up  to  the  skies ;  they  seemed  fit  flowers  for 
the  spirits  and  for  the  shades  of  the  dead  to  dwell  among. 
On  all  sides  extended  lonely  stretches  of  country;  the 
fantastic  shapes  of  palm  and  plane  trees  seemed  to  cover 
with  their  shadows  innumerable  old  tombs,  crypts,  and 


XTbe  Sbrine  in  tbe  jforest  S5 

caverns ;  remains  of  ancient  temples  were  scattered  about 
on  every  side,  while  huge  boulders,  overgrown  with  rose- 
mary, myrtle,  and  lentisk,  made  it  seem  as  if  here  had 
taken  place  the  celebrated  conflict  between  the  Titans  and 
Giants  of  old. 

Traversing  with  abstracted  gaze  this  leafy  wilderness, 
a  sudden  opening  in  the  forest-trees  revealed  to  Ottorino 
a  watery  waste,  dotted  with  islands  of  rank  verdure,  which 
stretched  far  to  westward.  A  herd  of  buffaloes,  grazing 
at  some  distance  from  each  other  or  wallowing  in  the 
foul  marsh,  were  the  only  animated  objects  visible. 
Whether  these  animals  were  wild,  and  as  such  the  prey 
of  all  who  dared  to  attempt  their  destruction,  —  whether 
they  were  the  property  of  some  feudal  baron  who  re- 
quired their  carcasses,  —  Ottorino  did  not  know.  But 
suddenly  he  came  upon  a  body  of  spearmen,  who,  sur- 
rounding the  skirt  of  the  marsh,  endeavoured  with  shouts 
and  by  goading  with  weapons  to  drive  the  herd  toward 
the  adjacent  forest,  where  a  squadron  of  mounted  archers 
awaited  their  approach,  ready  to  overwhelm  them  with 
javelins  and  arrows.  The  ferocity  and  prodigious  strength 
of  the  animals  made  the  first  part  of  this  enterprise  full 
of  danger.  The  Lombard,  taking  but  little  interest  in  the 
chase,  continued  upon  his  way,  when  suddenly  he  came 
upon  a  scene  which  so  strangely  attracted  his  notice  that 
he  halted  to  gaze  upon  it. 

He  had  reached  a  point  where  the  forest  descended  into 
one  of  those  deep  ravines  from  which  arise  the  rocks 
whereon  the  mediaeval  watch-towers  rear  their  massive 
walls.  A  city,  picturesquely  built  upon  the  brow  of  the 
opposite  hill,  surrounded  by  walls  and  crowned  with  a 
strong  castle,  appeared  at  some  distance.  The  country 
around  was  richly  cultivated,  the  mountain  being  com- 
pletely covered  with  vines  and  olives,  and  the  plain  wav- 


56  Cartel  ^el  ni>onte 

ing  with  verdant  pastures,  on  which  fed  white  steers  and 
numerous  flocks  of  sheep.  Ceres  indeed  seemed  to  have 
emptied  her  horn  over  this  garden-spot  of  Sicily,  and 
Ottorino  concluded  in  his  musing  survey  that  the  land 
belonged  to  some  monastery,  the  sanctity  of  which  pro- 
tected its  possessions  from  spoliation.  His  belief  seemed 
to  receive  confirmation  by  a  scene  of  a  very  ecclesiastical 
character,  which  he  observed  in  the  ravine  below. 

From  its  groves  of  cypress  and  pines  rose  the  fantastic 
shafts  of  a  Byzantine  shrine.  From  the  top  rose  a  cross, 
at  the  base  of  which  the  figure  of  the  Virgin  knelt,  em- 
bracing it,  while  some  saint  in  the  garb  of  a  monk  stood 
by  and  offered  consolation.  At  the  top  of  some  circular 
steps  stood  a  Dominican,  preaching  apparently  with  great 
fervour  to  a  crowd  below.  Numerous  groups  of  listening 
peasants  in  wild  but  gaily  tinted  garbs  stood  or  knelt 
around  the  shrine,  their  deeply  bronzed  countenances 
glowing  with  agitation  and  religious  zeal.  Many  pilgrims, 
known  by  the  bearing  of  the  rosemary  branch,  were 
among  them,  and  two  or  three  men-at-arms  in  the  livery 
of  the  Duke  of  Altamura  were  to  be  seen  among  the  trees. 

But  the  principal  group  surrounded  a  lady,  who  ap- 
peared to  be  of  very  high  rank.  She  sat  in  a  gilded 
chair  opposite  the  preacher,  while  several  ecclesiastics, 
whose  gorgeous  robes  proclaimed  them  to  be  the  chapter 
of  a  cathedral,  stood  around.  A  number  of  richly  at- 
tired ladies,  forming,  no  doubt,  the  escort,  were  also  stand- 
ing, and  a  litter  of  purple  silk,  borne  on  gilded  poles  by 
four  Nubian  slaves,  could  be  observed  at  some  distance. 
Even  at  the  height  where  he  was  placed  Ottorino  could 
not  but  remark  the  queenly  grace  and  bearing  of  the 
lady  who  was  the  central  figure,  and  his  curiosity  was 
kindled  when  he  remarked  her  raiment  of  material  not 
to  be  despised  by  a  queen,  and  which  revealed  rather  than 


XTbc  Sbrfne  tn  tbe  foxcst  si 

obscured  the  great  beauty  of  her  form.  A  hand  of  snowy 
whiteness,  on  which  she  leaned  in  Hstening  attitude,  par- 
tially concealed  her  face,  and  her  dark  hair,  wound  in  a 
Grecian  knot,  heightened  by  its  contrast  the  fairness  of 
her  complexion. 

This  apparition  was  the  more  extraordinary,  as  the 
shrine  appeared  to  be  decked  out  for  a  festival,  every 
part  and  pinnacle  of  the  elaborate  masonry  being  hung 
with  garlands  of  flowers.  So  deeply  was  the  Lombard 
impressed  with  the  spectacle  that,  observing  an  uneven 
path  before  him  which  descended  into  the  ravine,  he  fol- 
lowed it  some  little  way.  Suddenly  a  crashing  noise,  min- 
gled with  shouts,  induced  him  to  turn  his  head.  He 
beheld  an  enormous  black  buffalo  bull,  stung  to  madness 
by  dense  swarms  of  gadflies,  with  his  tufted  tail  high 
in  the  air,  rushing  down  the  steep,  pursued  by  a  horse- 
man at  full  gallop,  laughing  and  shouting  in  the  hilarity 
of  the  chase.  But  he  was  certainly  ignorant  of  the  fact 
that  the  whole  herd  was  at  his  rear,  following  the  flight 
of  their  leader  and  urged  on  by  the  spearmen,  who  rode 
after  them  in  the  hope  of  turning  their  course.  Ottorino 
perceived  at  a  glance  the  destruction  which  must  ensue 
among  the  defenceless  multitude  below,  if  the  herd  ar- 
rived while  they  were  thus  absorbed.  He  therefore  set 
spurs  to  his  horse,  and  dashed  down  the  declivity  with  a 
warning  cry.  A  direful  uproar  instantly  arose  below, 
more  especially  so  as,  unable  to  check  his  horse  upon  his 
reaching  the  ravine,  the  armed  phantom,  precipitated  thus 
suddenly  among  the  unwary  worshippers,  dashed  around 
the  shrine  and  left  in  full  view  the  approach  of  the  terrific 
and  maddened  bull.  The  peasants,  with  an  outcry  of 
terror,  rushed  away  in  every  direction,  falling  over  one 
another  in  their  flight;  pilgrims,  slaves,  and  monks  all 
fled  in  terrified  confusion,  with  the  exception  of  the 


s8  Castel  &cl  /IDontc 

Dominican  who  had  been  preaching.  When  Ottorino 
brought  his  steed  around,  he  perceived  that  the  monk, 
unarmed  as  he  was,  had  rushed  before  the  chair,  from 
which  the  fair  occupant  had  risen  but  not  fled,  for  she 
stood  there  as  if  transfixed  with  horror,  caUing  alternately 
on  the  Virgin  and  on  her  fugitive  vassals  for  protection, 
pale,  but  disdaining  to  partake  in  their  cowardly  flight. 
To  perceive  that  the  buflfalo  was  rushing  full  tilt  at  the 
lady,  that  only  the  gaunt  figure  of  the  friar  stood  between 
her  and  destruction,  and  to  dash  forward  with  his  mighty 
war-steed  between  them  and  the  furious  brute,  were  al- 
most simultaneous  actions  with  Ottorino. 

The  buffalo  was  of  prodigious  size  and  strength,  —  an 
African  bull  of  the  largest  species,  covered  with  black, 
shaggy  hair ;  its  vast  forehead  was  so  broad  that  its  curled 
horns,  which  might  separately  have  measured  ten  feet, 
could  not  compass  it;  its  neck  was  of  amazing  bulk,  its 
small,  red  eyes  were  whirling  in  eddies  of  fire,  its  nose 
was  close  to  the  ground,  its  whole  enormous  strength  was 
concentrated  like  a  battering-ram,  and  increased  by  its 
wild  velocity.  Such  was  the  assailant  to  which  the  young 
Lombard  opposed  himself.  Not,  indeed,  with  the  insane 
purpose  of  receiving  its  shock,  for,  swerving  his  terrified 
horse  with  a  dexterity  which  would  have  done  credit  to  a 
bull-fighter  of  later  days,  Ottorino  seized  the  lightning 
instant  when  the  buflfalo  rushed  past,  and  struck  one  ter- 
rific blow  with  his  sword  at  the  point  where  the  spine 
enters  the  brain.  The  bull's  career  came  to  an  instanta- 
neous stop ;  simultaneously  his  vast  flank  was  pierced  by 
the  pursuing  horseman's  spear.  The  weapon  shivered 
to  pieces,  and  the  rider  was  tossed  far  over  the  buffalo's 
neck,  so  great  was  his  impetuosity.  But  the  spear  had 
pierced  the  beast's  entrails,  and  with  a  roar  of  anguish 
which  seemed  to  shake  the  glen,  and  tossing  torrents  of 


Ube  Sbrtne  in  tbe  forest  s^ 

its  black  blood  around,  the  wretched  animal  fell  with  all 
its  monstrous  carcass,  and  rolled  over  on  its  back  in  the 
agonies  of  death.  The  herd  which  followed,  dismayed  at 
the  sound,  suddenly  paused,  and  then,  seized  with  a  panic, 
turned  on  their  pursuers.  The  horseman,  a  gaudy  noble- 
man of  the  duke's  suite,  sprang  to  his  feet,  but  little  hurt 
by  his  fall,  and  flew  to  assist  the  archers.  Ottorino,  who 
had  dismounted,  hastened  with  a  basin  full  of  water  from 
a  near-by  fountain  to  assist  the  lady,  whom  the  Dominican 
had  borne  in  his  arms,  chair  and  all,  up  the  steps  of  the 
shrine,  where  she  now  lay  insensible. 

The  monk  knelt,  supporting  her  in  his  arms  and  vainly 
chafing  her  brows.  As  the  approaching  Lombard  gazed 
upon  the  motionless  form,  stretched  as  if  lifeless  upon  the 
stairs  of  the  shrine,  his  hand  seemed  to  forget  the  purpose 
of  its  master,  for  he  still  held  the  ewer  filled  with  the 
water  from  the  spring.  Never  in  his  remotest  dreams  had 
he  beheld  a  face  more  lovely,  never  in  all  the  years  spent 
at  the  Northern  courts  had  his  eyes  feasted  on  a  beauty 
so  matchless,  a  form  so  perfect.  Like  one  dazed,  he  at 
last  staggered  toward  the  prostrate  form,  and,  bending 
over  her,  was  absorbed  as  intensely  in  his  efforts  to  revive 
her  as  if,  like  the  sculptor  demigod,  he  were  kindling 
marble  into  life  with  stolen  fire.  The  monk  zealously 
aided,  while  he  despatched  a  peasant,  who  had  ventured 
to  return,  in  quest  of  the  canon  of  a  near-by  monastery, 
who  possessed  some  skill  in  the  medical  art. 

And  like  the  vivification  of  the  love-hewn  Grecian 
statue  under  the  magic  touch  of  Prometheus,  was  the 
return  to  life  of  the  beautiful  ward  of  the  Dominican. 
A  pale  pink,  like  flame  on  marble,  gradually  crept  over 
her  snowy  pallor,  deepened  to  rose  on  the  cheeks,  to 
coral  on  the  lips ;  the  large,  humid,  velvety  eyes,  with 
their  long,  silken  lashes,  opened,  and  the  return  of  sensa- 


i 


6o  dastel  ^el  /iDonte 

tion  to  the  soul  was  marked  by  the  flush,  which  deepened 
all  those  lovely  tints  when  she  perceived  Ottorino  bend- 
ing over  her,  and  met  a  gaze  whose  natural  hauteur  was 
softened  into  almost  feminine  tenderness.  She  drew  her 
robes  about  her  neck  with  the  gesture  of  a  nymph  of 
Diana  discovered  when  bathing,  and,  murmuring  some 
incoherent  words  of  thanks  which  sounded  to  him  like 
strains  of  sweetest  music,  she  raised  herself  feebly  in  the 
arms  of  the  Dominican.  Gazing  for  an  instant  at  the 
monstrous  beast  which  lay  wallowing  in  a  pool  of  its 
own  gore,  she  shuddered  convulsively,  then,  turning  to 
the  Lombard  with  such  a  look  of  admiration  and  grati- 
tude that  it  kindled  to  devouring  flame  the  spark  in  his 
soul,  she  said,  in  a  tone  which  showed  that  her  anxiety 
was  altogether  transferred  from  herself  to  him: 

"  Signor  —  are  you  hurt  ?  " 

"  In  no  wise,  noble  lady,  save  the  apprehension  lest  the 
world  should  lose  its  masterpiece  of  beauty,"  replied  the 
Lombard,  with  a  warmth  which  deepened  the  flush  on 
her  cheeks. 

"  And  my  poor  vassals  and  the  good  monks  ? "  she 
continued,  with  a  faint  smile,  turning  to  the  Dominican. 

"  They  left  you  to  your  fate,  daughter,  and  you  may 
well  leave  them  to  theirs.  Yet  all  are  safe,"  replied  the 
monk,  sternly.  "  But  your  litter  is  nigh,  and  the  multitude 
are  gazing." 

Blushing  still  more  deeply,  the  lady  seated  herself  in 
her  chair,  while  the  Dominican  hurried  down  among  the 
people,  who  now  began  to  return  from  their  panic  armed 
with  staves  and  stones,  ordering  them  to  raise  the  litter, 
which  its  bearers  had  dropped  to  the  ground.  But  he 
returned  with  surprising  rapidity,  bringing  a  rich  mantle 
which  seemed  to  belong  to  the  lady,  and  which  he  had 
scarcely  time  to  throw  over  her  ere  a  multitude  of  men- 


Ubc  Sbrlne  In  tbe  fovcet  6i 

at-arms  dashed  down  the  ravine  at  a  gallop,  led  by  the 
Duke  of  Altamura  in  person. 

It  seemed  as  if  this  military  avalanche  infused  some 
new  and  excessive  terror  into  the  lady's  mind.  She 
started  up  with  a  glance  full  of  fear  and  suspicion  even 
at  her  rescuer,  but  her  strength  was  exhausted,  and  she 
would  have  fallen  had  not  Ottorino  put  his  strong  arm 
about  her  waist  and  supported  her.  Thus  assisted,  and 
gazing  up  with  a  look  of  supplication  to  the  stalwart 
warrior,  who,  with  a  mingled  expression  of  delight  and 
protection,  returned  her  ardent  gaze,  her  fears  seemed 
momentarily  to  subside.  The  Lombard's  heart  heaved 
so  wildly  that  he  was  fully  convinced  that  she  whom  he 
held  in  his  arms  must  hear  its  beating  even  through  the 
coat  of  linked  mail.  But  ere  he  could  frame  his  thoughts 
into  adequate  language,  the  duke  had  leaped  from  his 
steed,  rushed  up  the  steps  of  the  shrine,  and  exclaimed, 
his  face  wild  with  alarm : 

"  Helena !  Our  Helena !  Are  you  hurt?  ** 
As  the  duke  pronounced  the  fatal  name,  as  his  bright, 
steely  eyes  blazed  first  upon  the  lady,  turning  from  her 
with  undisguised  surprise  to  Ottorino,  the  knight  turned 
deadly  pale  and  almost  dropped  his  supporting  arm.  All 
the  rumours  afloat  of  the  Lady  of  Miraval,  this  second 
Helen  of  Troy,  whose  countless  suitors,  lured  on  to  the 
verge  of  delirium,  had  come  to  such  mysterious  ends, 
rushed  through  the  Lombard's  brain  and  increased  his 
confusion.  An  undercurrent  of  feelings,  as  potent  as  they 
were  new,  seemed  to  compel  him  toward  her,  even  as  he 
precipitately  retreated  from  the  shrine.  The  lady  of 
Miraval  glanced  at  him  with  profound  astonishment,  and 
grew  very  pale;  then  the  blood  returned  in  crimson,  not 
only  to  her  brow,  but  to  her  whole  frame,  for  even  her 
beautiful  white  shoulders  became  suffused.    The  expres- 


6a  Caatel  &el  Obontc 

sion  of  fear,  of  intense  doubt,  whichj  however  momentar- 
ily, had  painted  itself  on  the  noble  and  haughty  face  of  her 
deliverer,  was  not  to  be  misconstrued.  After  a  moment 
of  startled  wonder,  a  whirl  of  thoughts  seemed  to  rush 
upon  Helena  di  Miraval;  then  the  pallor  returned,  and 
she  sank  down  in  her  chair  as  if  relapsing  into  the  swoon. 

All  pressed  around  eagerly  with  assistance  save  Otto- 
rino,  who,  torn  by  conflicting  emotions,  stood  immovable 
by  the  shrine.  The  duke  sternly  commanded  that  none 
should  mount  the  stairs  save  the  monk  who  had  just 
arrived  from  the  monastery  and  who  was  rubbing  a  rose- 
mary branch,  discarded  by  some  fugitive  pilgrims,  in  his 
hands,  and  applying  the  strong  scent  to  revive  the  lady. 
Its  effect  was  soon  evident,  for,  stretching  her  hand  to  the 
monk,  she  murmured,  in  a  low  voice : 

"  Father,  call  the  Dominican  and  let  us  begone !  I  am 
not  well  here !  " 

When  the  latter  raised  his  head  in  response  to  the 
summons  from  the  shrine,  the  duke's  gaze  for  the  first 
time  rested  upon  his  blanched  features.  He  started,  but 
the  friar's  countenance  remained  cold  and  imperturbed. 

"Do  you  not  know  me,  Helena  —  your  kinsman,  Fer- 
rando  ?  "  The  duke  turned  from  the  monk  to  the  lady, 
while  a  tone  of  crouching  humility,  unusual  in  his  voice, 
rang  through  his  speech. 

"  Ferrando,  our  kinsman  —  yes,  truly,"  she  replied, 
starting  up  without  assistance  and  with  a  degree  of  wild- 
ness.  "  Welcome,  signor !  I  am  very  well,  in  no  wise 
injured  —  but  what  brings  you  here,  you  and  your 
soldiers?  Why  do  you  disturb  our  worship  and  break 
into  the  sanctity  of  our  retreat?  Why  are  our  peaceful 
festivals  broken  into  by  armed  men  ?  " 

"  Fear  nothing,  daughter,  all  is  well,"  interposed  the 
Dominican.    "  The  duke  is  here  by  chance." 


Ubc  Sbvfne  (n  tbe  J'orest  63 

*Your  pardon  —  fear  hath  for  a  time  darkened  re- 
membrance," replied  the  lady,  breaking  down  in  tears, 
and  adding  with  a  hysteric  smile :  "  Oh,  no,  no,  no ! 
We  have  to  fear  no  usurpation  of  our  grants  from  our 
kinsman.  Welcome,  then,  signor  —  home  from  your  vic- 
tories." 

"  In  faith,  you  sent  such  scant  tidings  of  your  doings 
during  our  absence  that  I  pray  you,  my  fair  kinswoman, 
how  was  I  to  know  that  I  was  trespassing  on  your  char- 
ter ?  "  said  the  duke,  with  his  usual  affectation  of  careless 
good  humour.  "  But  here  is  one  with  me  who  I  know 
will  find  a  warmer  welcome  —  my  friend,  Lucio  San 
Severino !  " 

He  turned,  and  with  a  slight  and  almost  contemptuous 
gesture  indicated  the  presence  of  the  nobleman,  who,  pale 
and  quivering  with  emotion,  ascended  some  of  the  steps 
and  knelt  before  the  lady,  while  Ottorino's  countenance 
betrayed  a  deadly  pallor,  as  with  lips  tightly  set  he  viewed 
the  newcomer,  in  whom  he  recognized  the  horseman 
whose  lance  had  finished  the  work  of  his  sword. 

The  Count  of  San  Severino  was  of  spare  but  muscular 
form ;  his  dark  Spanish  features  bore  traces  of  debauch- 
ery, while  his  age  might  have  been  reckoned  at  forty. 
The  coxcombry  of  his  bearing  filled  the  Lombard  from 
the  start  with  an  antipathy  which,  unknown  to  him, 
was  shared  by  no  small  number  of  those  present. 

"  Signor  —  Ferrando  —  this  is  not  kind !  "  exclaimed 
Helena,  with  an  angry  glance,  and  coldly  extending  her 
hand,  which  the  Apulian  passionately  kissed.  "  I  am  not 
in  a  mood  to  receive  such  homage,  and,  with  your  per- 
mission, I  will  at  once  proceed  upon  my  way,  whither  I 
cannot  ask  you  to  join  me,  as  it  would  but  delay  you." 

"  But  first,  noble  lady,  pardon  the  unwitting  cause  of 
this  disaster,  who  would  a  thousand  times  rather  have 


64  Castel  t>cl  /iDonte 

perilled  his  own  life  than  that  of  so  peerless  a  lady ! " 
San  Severino  croaked,  still  retaining  his  kneeling  posi- 
tion. 

With  a  flashing  glance  of  contempt  Helena  di  Miraval 
turned  from  the  whining  cavalier, 

"  Our  gratitude  toward  one  who  perilled  his  safety 
for  ours  has  long  caused  us  to  forget  the  whimsical  cause 
of  what  might  have  proven  our  destruction,  though,  like 
a  truly  generous  giver,  he  seems  to  have  already  forgotten 
what  he  has  bestowed." 

"  Thank  chance,  lady,  not  its  blind  instrument,"  Otto- 
rino  replied,  coldly.  "  Even  this  holy  man  hazarded  him- 
self without  arms  in  your  defence !  " 

Again  Helena  glanced  at  the  Lombard  with  an  ex- 
pression half  of  pride,  half  of  supplication,  but  marvel- 
lously beautiful ;  an  emotion  which  pouted  the  lips  with 
haughtiness,  at  the  same  time  moistening  the  fire  of  the 
eyes  as  if  with  tears. 

San  Severino  had  risen  and  was  on  the  point  of  speak- 
ing, when  the  deep,  melancholy  voice  of  the  Dominican 
was  heard. 

"  It  was  no  part  of  thy  pilgrimage  to  expose  thyself 
to  the  gaze  of  the  world,  daughter.  The  litter  is  pre- 
pared and  thy  gfuards  are  in  readiness." 

Many  eyes  were  turned  toward  the  monk  as  he  spoke, 
for,  although  his  words  were  sufficiently  commonplace, 
there  was  a  strange  ring  of  warning  and  even  menace 
in  his  tones  which  excited  a  vague  echo  in  every  heart. 
And  his  composed  and  majestic  countenance  offered  much 
incitement  to  curiosity.  It  was  one  which  a  painter  might 
have  taken  for  St.  Paul  but  for  its  pain  and  gloom,  —  St. 
Paul,  converted  after  a  life  of  warlike  broils  and  violent 
passions. 

"  We  shall  meet  again  in  Palermo,  where  our  kinsman. 


"  SHE    HASTENED    DOWN    THE    STEPS    TO    THE    LITTER " 


Xlbe  Sbrine  in  the  jforest  65 

the  duke,  will  thank  you,  knight,  for  a  life  which  he  values 
beyond  its  worth,"  said  Helena,  with  a  beseeching  look 
and  wavering  smile  which  Ottorino  found  almost  impos- 
sible to  resist.  He  approached  and,  bending  over  her 
outstretched  hands,  pressed  his  lips  upon  them.  The 
blush  which  again  dyed  her  fair  face  was  rendered  more 
glowingly  beautiful  by  the  expression  of  joy  spreading 
over  it  in  a  rush  of  rosy  light.  As  she  hastened  down 
the  steps  to  the  litter,  the  duke  advanced  to  offer  his 
assistance;  but,  seeming  not  to  notice  his  gesture,  she 
offered  her  hand  to  the  Lombard.  After  taking  her  seat, 
it  appeared  as  if  she  were  about  to  go  without  any  cere- 
mony of  farewell,  but,  suddenly  remembering  herself,  she 
turned  and  bent  to  the  chief  personages  of  the  group 
with  the  grace  and  majesty  of  the  fair  goddess  whose 
several  attributes  were  so  lavishly  bestowed  upon  her. 

But  amidst  all  these  plumed  and  helmeted  heads  bend- 
ing in  homage,  her  eye  sought  only  the  stately  form  of 
the  Visconti,  resting  on  him  but  for  a  flash  of  thought. 
She  then  beckoned  to  her  attendants  to  proceed,  and 
rallying  her  scattered  retinue  around  her,  she  departed. 
In  a  few  moments  the  principal  evidences  of  the  inter- 
rupted festival  which  remained  were  the  bleeding  buffalo 
and  the  garlanded  shrine. 

"  Whew !  This  is  cold  courtesy,  brother  Lucio,"  said 
the  duke,  with  a  sneer,  slapping  San  Severino  on  the 
back.  "  By  the  silver  keys  —  yon  Northern  knight  might 
prove  an  unwelcome  rival." 

San  Severino  frowned,  and  his  eyes  fell  with  a  some- 
what fierce  expression  on  the  Lombard.  No  further 
words  passed  until  the  cavaliers  had  remounted.  Leav- 
ing the  buffalo  herd  to  roam  unmolested,  they  retraced 
their  way  through  the  forest  toward  Palermo.  At  the 
urgent  request  of  the  duke,  Ottorino  had  joined  the  com- 


66  Castel  Del  /iDonte 

pany,  and  it  was  remarked  that  the  Lombard,  usually 
reticent  and  reserved,  began  to  speak  much  and  hurriedly, 
as  if  to  silence  some  importunate  inner  thought.  San 
Severino  rode  sullen  and  silent  on  the  other  side  of  the 
duke,  who  seemed  to  take  pleasure  in  the  hectic  gaiety 
of  the  Lombard's  remarks,  while  he  compared  their  last 
adventure,  with  much  praise  to  Ottorino,  to  the  achieve- 
ments of  the  ancient  paladins,  to  whom  the  destruction 
of  the  most  prodigious  monsters  was  a  daily  pastime. 

After  having  jointly  partaken  of  refreshments  in  an 
adjacent  monastery,  the  duke  and  his  company  continued 
toward  Palermo,  whose  towers  and  pinnacles  came  in 
sight  as  the  sun  was  declining  in  the  west.  Just  as 
they  approached  the  gates  the  spectacle  of  the  previous 
evening  was  repeated,  and  a  sea  of  fire,  like  the  lava- 
eruption  of  a  volcano,  enveloped  the  area  of  the  Torre 
del  Diavolo. 

For  a  moment  the  duke  reined  in  his  charger,  staring 
aghast,  then,  parting  from  his  company,  he  left  them  to 
their  own  surmises  regarding  the  nature  of  the  phenom- 
enon they  had  witnessed. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  TORRE  DEL  DIAVOLO 

The  Torre  del  Diavolo  had  relapsed  into  the  limpid 
darkness  of  the  Southern  night.  The  masses  thronging 
the  Piazza  del  Duomo  and  the  Kassaro  were  gradually 
dispersing ;  the  nobles  and  vassals  to  fortified  palaces,  the 
men-at-arms  to  their  assigned  quarters,  the  populace  to 
their  houses  and  hovels.  As  if  watching  the  gradual  sink- 
ing of  the  city  into  calm,two  persons  slowly  left  the  large 
square  and  bent  their  steps  toward  the  desolate  region 
where  the  ramparts  of  the  Torre  overlooked  the  plain  and 
the  Oreto,  one  keeping  slightly  behind  the  other  with  the 
respect  of  an  inferior,  though  engaged  in  apparently  con- 
fidential dialogue. 

"  You  have  now  with  your  own  eyes  seen  what  seemed 
incredible  in  the  account  I  gave  your  Lordship  yesterday," 
said  Crivello,  as  they  approached  the  gloomy  structure. 
"  Shall  I  apprise  the  lady  of  your  Highness's  approach  ?  " 

"  We  shall  be  our  own  herald,"  returned  the  duke, 
while  he  leisurely  ascended  a  flight  of  narrow  steps  lead- 
ing to  a  bastion  in  the  tower  and  entered  a  still  narrower 
doorway,  followed  by  Crivello. 

Passing  through  a  series  of  apartments  furnished  in 
a  style  of  massive  but  antique  grandeur,  the  duke  and  his 
captain  descended  by  a  succession  of  winding  stairs  and 
corridors.    All  the  principal  points  of  access  or  egress  to 

67 


68  Castcl  &el  /iDonte 

these  subterranean  chambers  were  guarded  by  sentinels 
from  the  company  of  Catalans.  The  remote  lamps  of 
these  guards,  with  the  gleam  of  the  bright  night  sky 
through  deep  shafts  perforated  in  the  thick  walls,  afforded 
the  only  light. 

"  Who  are  your  chief  prisoners  ?  Have  you  yet  had 
time  to  inquire  ? "  said  the  duke,  as  they  descended 
through  the  dark  labyrinth. 

"  I  am  not,  I  trow,  to  consider  Donna  Francesca  as 
one,  although  she  be  guilty  of  the  heinous  accusation  of 
being  a  nun  who  forsook  her  orders  ?  "  replied  Crivello, 
with  a  grin,  the  sneering  malice  of  which  was  concealed 
by  the  gloom. 

"  That  is  as  I  shall  find  her  humour  disposed,  for  I 
will  have  no  whimpering  maidens  wailing  after  me,"  re- 
turned the  duke.    "  But  go  on  —  who  lodges  above  ?  " 

"Jacopo  di  Sermoneta,  the  former  notary,  who  so 
carelessly  misdirected  one  of  your  Highness's  letters. 
They  say  he  has  lost  his  reason  and  spends  the  whole 
day  sticking  his  hooked  nose  through  the  bars  of  his 
cage  looking  up  to  heaven,  as  if  he  expected  some  visitor 
from  up  there !  " 

"Let  him  look  on!  There  is  enough  of  the  blue  sky 
for  all  of  us  to  stare  at,"  replied  the  duke.  "  But  where 
does  Lorenzo  Ani,  the  friar,  who  mistook  our  confession 
for  his  breviary  and  recited  it,  keep  his  state  ?  " 

"  He  retracts  his  former  confession  and  denies  the 
accusation  as  obstinately  as  ever !  " 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  him !  But  what  music  is 
this  we  hear?  It  seems  to  float  from  the  grottoes  at  our 
left." 

"  'Tis  the  musician  Pelagrua,  who  for  the  love  of  his 
lady,  whom  your  Highness  was  besieging  at  Avigliano, 
attempted  your  life  with  poisoned  letters ! "  replied  Cri- 


Ubc  Zotxc  bcl  Diavolo  6^ 

vello.  "  They  have  left  him  the  flute,  and  as  the  grottoes 
are  dark  as  night  all  day,  he  has  no  other  amusement  but 
to  play  on  it !  " 

"  What  say  you  —  Pelagrua  alive  ?  " 
"  The  king  was  pleased  to  spare  his  life ! " 
"  He  breathes  into  his  reed  so  utter  a  hopelessness  that 
to  gibbet  him  were  to  do  him  a  kindness,"  said  the  duke. 
"  But  this  place  is  very  dark,  Crivello,  and  by  the  cold, 
damp  air  I  should  say  we  were  near  the  entrance  of  some 
cavern  or  vault." 

"  We  shall  soon  have  light  enough,  my  lord,  although 
certainly  it  were  not  ill  if  I  returned  above  for  a  lamp," 
returned  Crivello,  with  a  slight  shudder.  "  This  is  the 
entrance  to  the  secret  gallery  leading  to  the  sepulchral 
vaults  of  the  Norman  kings.  Donna  Francesca  busies 
herself  very  much  therein,  for  it  is  there  she  pursues  her 
study  of  the  black  art,  and,  as  they  say,  can  raise  the 
evil  one  at  her  will  —  all  holy  saints  keep  us  from  harm 
and  absolve  our  wretched  souls.  There  are  not  wanting 
some  who  aver  that  she  has  made  the  great  stone  head 
in  the  corridor  speak,  and  brought  the  ghost  of  Emperor 
Henry  the  Sixth  out  of  his  marble  sarcophagus." 

"  Lead  on  —  lead  on  —  and  cease  your  nursery  babble," 
said  the  duke,  in  a  contemptuous  tone,  a  tone  which, 
despite  the  vigour  of  his  mind  and  his  great  skepticism, 
was  assumed,  for  the  general  belief  in  magic  and  necro- 
mancy was,  as  we  have  seen,  abundantly  shared  by  this 
strangely  compounded  intellect. 

But  at  the  same  moment  one  of  the  sudden  suspicions, 
natural  to  so  dark  a  mind,  struck  him  that  Crivello  medi- 
tated some  treachery,  and  was  leading  him  within  the 
reach  of  ambushed  assassination.  He  started  back,  drew 
his  poniard,  and  but  that  he  beheld  at  this  instant  a 
distant  glow  in  a  gallery  beneath,  the  valiant  captain 


7©  Castcl  bel  /Donte 

himself  might  have  been  in  no  better  plight  than  the  im- 
perial spectre  whose  enforced  reappearance  he  had  alluded 
to. 

"  Return  and  bring  me  a  lamp !  Yonder  light  will 
guide  me  the  rest  of  my  way,"  said  the  duke,  concealing 
the  weapon  under  his  cloak  as  he  brushed  past  the  Cat- 
alan, who  disappeared  with  a  profound  bend  hardly 
discernible  in  the  murky  twilight.  The  duke  proceeded 
with  cautious  steps  and  keen  glances  toward  the  place 
from  whence  came  the  radiance  which  glowed  on  the 
lofty  wall,  revealing  in  spots  the  ancient  granite  founda- 
tions of  the  pile.  The  mutilated  remains  of  many  an 
old  form  of  Moorish  superstition  gave  a  terrible  and 
supernatural  aspect  to  the  interior  of  the  gallery.  A 
circular  hole  now  appeared  in  the  earth,  resembling  a 
well  of  light.  In  its  centre  a  massive  pillar  of  granite 
arose,  into  which  the  arches  of  a  vaulted  chamber  con- 
verged. So  intricate  were  these  arches  that  it  was  some 
moments  ere  the  duke,  though  acquainted  with  the  place, 
discerned  the  steps  which  wound  through  the  hollow 
pillar  into  the  vault. 

Meanwhile  he  was  occupied  with  considering  the  ex- 
traordinary scene  that  presented  itself  to  his  gaze  through 
the  ruined  dome  which  it  was  probable  had  at  one  time 
completely  hidden  the  secret  passage. 

At  a  considerable  depth  below  appeared  an  extensive 
chamber  apparently  excavated  in  the  rock,  on  which  the 
foundations  of  the  sombre  pile  were  laid,  and  behind  this 
chamber  extended  grottoes  and  vast  stretches  of  corri- 
dors. 

A  great  fire,  evidently  of  innocuous  flame,  blazed  with 
extraordinary  splendour  in  a  gigantic  sarcophagus,  with- 
out emitting  smoke  or  consuming  the  waxen  figure  which 
reposed  in  the  midst  of  it.    The  fire  burned  on  the  top 


TTbe  Uorre  bel  Dfavolo  ji 

of  an  altar,  supported  by  couching  sphinxes,  and  shed 
its  lurid  glow  over  the  chamber.  The  duke  smiled,  though 
not  without  some  secret  disquietude,  imagining  that  he 
recognized  in  the  fire-enwrapped  figure  a  striking  re- 
semblance to  his  own  form  and  features.  On  its  breast 
lay  a  skull,  in  which  there  appeared  a  substance  resem- 
bling a  human  heart,  or  that  of  some  animal  of  similar 
organization,  recently  torn  from  the  breast  where  it  had 
been  wont  to  beat.  Two  ancient  hags  were  busied  in 
continually  ladling  this  skull  full  of  the  beautiful  flames 
in  the  sarcophagus,  or  in  feeding  them  with  strange  in- 
gredients, which  were  heaped  around.  Phials  of  Eastern 
configuration  were  there,  filled  with  curious  oils,  naphtha, 
and  fluids  unknown  to  the  modern  pharmacy,  inventions 
chiefly  of  Arab  or  Greek  chemists  in  the  pursuit  of 
sciences  abhorred  then  and  despised  now.  These  potions 
were  supposed  to  possess  magic  or  cabalistical  virtues, 
known  only  to  the  initiated.  There  were  bundles  of 
herbs,  chiefly  of  the  dreary  plants  alien  to  human  life, 
which  sprout  in  churchyards  or  in  ruins, — hemlock,  night- 
shade, ivy,  vervain,  and  mingled  with  these  were  the  most 
precious  drugs  of  remote  lands,  from  India  and  Iceland. 
Mosses  covered  with  the  froth  of  an  insect,  which  was 
then  supposed  to  be  produced  by  the  direct  influence  of 
the  moon,  glittering  dust  of  gold  and  pounded  diamonds, 
a  multitude  of  strange  animals,  such  as  bats,  lizards, 
toads,  and  select  portions  of  other  reptiles,  were  there. 
A  pile  of  what  seemed  to  be  the  head  and  eyes  of  a 
mummy,  which  one  of  the  haggard  attendants  occasionally 
rasped  into  a  fine  powder  over  the  supplies  of  fuel,  and  an 
infinite  variety  of  the  most  beautiful  flowers,  composed 
the  extraordinary  supplies. 

The  malicious  and  enigmatical  features  of  the  sphinx 
and  the  caryatides,  which  brightened  and  darkened  with 


73  Gastel  Del  jflDonte 

the  wavering  of  the  flames,  as  if  at  times  about  to  utter 
their  secrets,  relapsing  as  suddenly  into  profound  and 
impenetrable  gloom,  seemed  rather  a  repetition  of  than 
a  contrast  to  the  living  countenances  of  the  two  weird 
women  who  superintended  the  mysterious  rites. 

The  duke  immediately  recognized  in  them  two  female 
apothecaries  with  whom  he  had  had  some  dealings  in 
the  past.  Both  were  tall  and  large  boned;  both  aged, 
and  yet  of  remarkable  bodily  strength  and  agility.  They 
were  so  hideously  ugly  that  they  would  have  made  the 
devil's  flesh  creep,  and  they  combined  every  evil  trait  and 
characteristic  of  their  Moorish  extraction.  Their  real 
names  were  unknown  or  had  been  forgotten  in  the  pro- 
fuse universality  of  their  nicknames,  to  which  they  them- 
selves answered  without  hesitation  or  apparent  dislike. 
Their  father  was  said  to  have  been  a  Moorish  wizard  of 
transcendent  skill,  which  he  was  supposed  to  owe  to  a 
compact  with  the  demons  of  Mount  Eblis.  There  were 
some,  however,  who  hesitated  not  to  malign  the  devil  by 
asserting  that  he  had  been  the  parent  of  these  two  sisters, 
and  that,  after  instructing  them  in  many  hellish  arts,  he 
had  set  them  up  with  an  ample  stock  of  poisonous  drugs 
and  left  them  on  earth  to  make  the  best  of  it.  While  to 
all  appearances  extremely  destitute,  the  sisters  were  cred- 
ited with  possessing  great  wealth,  gained  from  their  un- 
earthly traffic.  It  was  also  hinted  that  they  possessed  a 
powerful,  though  secret,  protector,  to  whose  vengeance 
their  accursed  art  had  time  and  again  been  serviceable. 

The  duke's  eyes  scarcely  glanced  over  these  fearful 
and  disagreeable  objects  ere  they  rested  on  a  form  which, 
although  not  without  a  mixture  of  the  terrible  in  its 
beauty,  displayed  in  its  disorder  of  apparel  and  look  much 
to  attract  the  gaze  even  of  a  nature  less  sensually  in- 
clined than  that  of  Ferrando,  Duke  of  Altamura.    It  was 


Ube  Uorte  Del  Btavolo  7S 

that  of  a  woman  of  classic  stature,  the  features  carved 
with  the  statuesque  regularity  which  the  Roman  beauty 
still  retains,  and  distinguished  by  a  haughty  and  fiery 
expression,  well  suited  to  a  descendant  of  the  ancient 
masters  of  the  world. 

She  was  attired  in  a  long  black  robe,  girdled  with  a 
silver  serpent  and  loosened  as  if  to  allow  room  for  the 
tempestuous  heavings  of  her  bosom.  She  half-sat,  half- 
reclined  on  the  steps  of  the  sarcophagus  in  an  attitude 
at  once  expressive  of  enforced  resignation  and  impa- 
tience. Often  she  gazed  wildly  around,  often  she  started 
at  the  crackle  or  flash  of  the  flames.  Sometimes  she  up- 
braided the  hags  with  the  slow  progress  of  the  incanta- 
tion, at  others  she  snatched  an  open  volume  before  her, 
emblazoned  with  strange  figures  and  characters,  and  read 
in  a  distracted  and  hurried  tone  the  directions  which  it 
apparently  contained  for  the  due  performance  of  the 
spell.  She  had  dashed  away  her  silver  diadem,  and  the 
dark  waves  of  her  hair,  falling  over  her  naked  shoulders, 
revealed  and  heightened  their  perfect  contour  and  white- 
ness. The  expression  of  her  countenance  was  at  once 
celestial  and  fiendish.  Contending  passions,  hope  and 
despair,  love  and  hatred,  at  times  rendered  diabolical  the 
face  with  all  its  rare,  exquisite  beauty,  at  others  sunk  it 
into  what  was  perhaps  its  habitual  cast,  that  of  the  pride 
and  supernatural  melancholy  of  the  fallen  angel. 

"  He  comes  not  —  he  comes  not  —  he  will  never 
come !  "  she  exclaimed,  as  the  duke  gazed.  "  And  you 
do  but  mock  me  with  your  mad  mutterings  and  powerless 
herbs.  He  is  even  now  clasping  to  his  heart  another, 
assuring  her  of  his  love,  upbraiding  his  long  absence  from 
her  arms,  and  gives  not  a  thought,  not  a  sigh,  not  one 
recollection  to  all-abandoned  Francesca !  And  why  should 
he!     What  charms  have  I  to  lure  him  back,  what  spell 


74  Cartel  t>cl  Obontc 

is  there  in  my  beauty  to  bind  him  to  me  for  ever  —  a 
beauty  which  sorrow  and  disgrace  and  infamy  have  rav- 
aged, and  time  —  time  —  time!  For  I  am  aged  with 
misery  and  grief !  " 

"  Nay,  daughter,  when  thou  art  as  old  as  we,  there  will 
be  time  enough  to  reckon  years,"  returned  one  of  the 
dark-skinned  sibyls,  dipping  the  stiff  body  of  a  viper  into 
a  blue  oil,  which  cast  out  a  noisome  odour  as  she  stirred  it. 

"  No  more  —  no  more,  my  friends,"  continued  the  lady, 
in  a  tone  of  profound  and  utter  despair,  "  It  is  a  useless 
task  —  leave  me  to  die,  for  what  have  I  to  live  for  ?  " 

"  It  is  worth  staying  in  this  world  were  it  only  to  keep 
out  of  the  next,"  said  the  other  of  the  skeleton  carcass,  in 
a  strange  whistling  voice,  while  with  a  grin  she  showed 
her  white  but  deformed  and  unnaturally  long  teeth.  "  And 
as  for  beauty  —  when  thou  art  as  lank  and  lean  as  we  — 
then  mayest  thou  lament  thy  vanished  loveliness." 

"  And  were  you  ever  beautiful  ?  "  said  Francesca,  gaz- 
ing at  the  speaker  with  a  wild  yet  absent  look. 

"  Beautiful  as  the  houris.  Donna  Francesca,"  replied 
the  hag,  with  a  malignant  and  envious  leer  at  the  beautiful 
girl,  who  scarcely  noticed  that  she  was  speaking,  "  and 
what  can  repay  me  for  being  so  old  and  withered  before 
my  time  ?  " 

"  Thou  lying  book  and  still  more  lying  prophets," 
Francesca  exclaimed,  dashing  the  mysterious  volume  from 
her,  "  if  the  spell  of  love  is  over,  what  is  there  in  magic 
that  can  replace  its  power?  But  does  the  traitor  think 
to  trample  thus  on  me  ?  Oh,  Ferrando,  thou  hast  made  a 
demon  of  me  —  look  to  it  that  it  prove  not  one  who  will 
tear  her  maker  to  pieces !  " 

The  sisters  looked  at  each  other,  exchanged  smiles, 
such  as  serpents  might  give,  and  resumed  their  toils. 

A  silence  of  some  moments  followed,  during  which 


Ube  Zovxc  bel  2)tavolo  is 

Francesca  leaned  her  burning  cheeks  on  her  hand  and 
gazed  with  eager  and  devouring  eyes  upon  the  burning 
sarcophagus. 

"A!n  emperor's  dust  may  be  calcining  there  —  what 
more  can  the  pride  of  the  son  of  the  morning  require  ?  " 
she  said,  at  length,  in  a  melancholy,  musing  tone. 

"  I  told  thee,  daughter,  that  the  heart  should  be  taken 
from  a  living  man  and  not  from  a  dead  reptile,"  said 
one  of  the  hags,  shaking  her  long,  skinny  finger  em- 
phatically at  the  contents  of  the  skull. 

"  Thou  talkest  now  indeed  as  remorselessly  as  death 
itself,"  said  Francesca,  with  a  convulsive  shudder.  "  We 
have  followed  to  his  very  letter  the  commands  of  Dom 
Alamo  and  the  book  he  gave  us." 

"  Dom  Alamo !  For  my  part  I  would  so  great  a  master 
as  he  reports  himself  would  take  the  trouble  and  shame 
of  his  own  failure,"  answered  the  hag,  peevishly,  while 
she  looked  for  approbation  to  her  sister,  whose  superiority 
and  keener  intellect  she  seemed  to  recognize. 

"  Yea,  sister,  we  are  not  to  blame  if  the  duke  comes 
not  nearer  this  tower  —  in  which  no  follower  of  the 
house  of  Lesina  may  venture  —  to-night  than  a  hawk  to 
the  nest  of  an  eagle,"  returned  the  malignant  crone. 

"  A  Lesina  —  a  Lesina !  Oh,  that  there  were  a  saint 
in  heaven  to  whom  I  could  shriek  for  mercy,"  exclaimed 
the  young  woman,  throwing  herself  with  frantic  violence 
on  the  sphinx's  steps  in  a  tearless  agony  of  despair. 

"  Yield  not  thus  hastily,  daughter,"  said  the  hag  in 
authority,  perhaps  somewhat  touched  or  alarmed  by  the 
excess  of  this  silent  anguish.  "  Although  we  fail  with 
this  spell  of  thine  unknown  Magus,  we  may  do  better 
with  one  of  our  own,  which  is  in  our  father's  books, 
the  wisest  and  greatest  since  Zoroaster  compelled  the  sun 


%6  Cast^l  &el  /»onte 

to  stand  still  in  heaven  during  a  year  of  days  and  nights  1 
But  be  patient  —  patient  —  patient !  " 

"  We  must  have  a  warm  human  heart,  not  that  of  a 
cold  snake,"  remarked  her  sister,  contemptuously. 

"  Take  out  your  brass  sickle  then  and  tear  out  mine, 
for  'tis  on  fire  in  my  breast,"  said  Francesca,  ravingly 
pointing  to  an  instrument,  which  in  obedience  to  the 
traditions  of  the  craft  the  sisters  used  in  gathering  their 
herbs. 

Again  they  exchanged  their  mysterious,  but  dreadful, 
smile,  and  continued  their  labours  in  silence,  interrupted 
by  the  disconsolate  sighs  and  moanings  of  Francesca. 

At  last,  either  wearied  with,  these  expressions  of  an- 
guish, or  because  the  grand  moment  of  projection  had 
arrived,  Moira,  the  older  of  the  sisters,  made  a  sign  to 
Gorgo,  the  younger. 

"  We  must  now  burn  the  heart  in  naphtha  and  frankin- 
cense," she  said.  "  Thou,  daughter,  put  on  the  wreath 
of  purple  nightshade,  and  with  bare  feet  and  scattering 
flowers  walk  continually  around  the  sarcophagus,  singing 
love-songs  in  a  sweet,  persuasive  voice  until  we  bid 
thee  desist,  when  he  will  appear,  or  Dom  Alamo,  adept 
of  the  Arabian  school  though  he  be,  is  a  fool  and  a  liar !  " 

The  pale  girl  arose  listlessly  and  despairingly,  and  while 
the  hags  mumbled  and  assisted  one  another  in  preparing 
their  drugs  and  fluids  over  the  fiery  sarcophagus,  she 
slowly  and  hopelessly  collected  a  heap  of  flowers  in  her 
arms,  and  bound  her  brows  with  the  gloomy  garlands 
indicated  by  the  weird  women. 

Not  a  movement  in  this  drama  was  lost  upon  the  un- 
seen spectator,  and,  although  it  is  possible  that  the  passion 
which  the  despairing  gfrl  displayed  for  him  excited 
rather  his  contempt  than  his  compassion,  the  duke  was 
not  altogether  insensible  to  its   warmth.     Still   he  re- 


Ube  Uorre  t)el  H>tavolo  i^t 

solved  to  mortify  the  sorceresses,  and  prove  the  futility 
of  their  spell  by  not  appearing  until  they  had  exhausted 
it  and  despaired  of  its  success. 

The  hags  had  now  completed  their  preparations,  and 
the  heart  appeared  surrounded  by  a  pure  flame  of 
naphtha.  They  continued  heaping  it  with  frankincense, 
and  Francesca  commenced  her  perambulation,  scattering 
flowers  and  singing  with  a  voice  which,  however  wild 
and  troubled,  was  passionate  and  melting;  while  with 
a  frenzied  fervour  that  gave  her  the  aspect  and  inspired 
eflFulgence  of  beauty  which  would  have  befitted  a  Delphic 
sibyl,  she  chanted  the  lines  of  her  incantation. 

As  she  sang,  the  voluptuous  and  affecting  recollections 
kindled  by  her  words,  the  melody  of  her  voice,  her  beauty, 
her  despair,  the  intoxicating  vapours  of  the  drugs,  roused 
the  duke's  passions  into  flames.  In  the  delirium  and 
enthusiasm  of  returning  love,  if  love  we  may  dare  to 
call  it,  Ferrando  forgot  his  determination  and  desire  to 
disappoint  the  hags.  He  entered  the  winding  hollow 
of  the  pillar,  and,  turning  round  and  round  with  giddy 
rapidity,  descended  and  arrived  at  the  exit  at  the  very 
instant  when  the  flames  of  the  naphtha  had  expired,  and 
the  incantation  had  ceased.  As  he  leaped  into  the  cham- 
ber, Francesca  had  halted  like  a  figure  suddenly  trans- 
formed into  stone.  With  a  wild  shriek,  which  the  vault 
reechoed,  she  rushed  into  his  arms,  while  the  hags,  after 
a  momentary  pause  of  surprise,  clapped  their  withered 
hands  in  congratulation.  Showers  of  tears  amidst  wild 
laughter,  sobs,  sighs,  and  kisses,  delirious  with  passion 
and  joy,  a  thousand  broken  exclamations  of  delight  and 
despair,  love  and  reproach,  and  the  embraces  which  in 
their  frantic  ardour  overstepped  or  ignored  the  limits  of 
womanly  reserve,  betrayed  the  convulsive  reaction  in  the 


yS  Castel  Del  /l>onte 

soul  of  the  despairing  victim  of  the  duke's  licentious 
nature. 

"And  did  you  deem  any  other  spell  necessary  to  lure 
me  back  to  you  than  the  memory  of  your  beauty  and 
our  past  happiness  ? "  said  Ferrando,  kissing  away  the 
tears,  which  continued  to  flow  over  the  now  crimsoning 
cheeks. 

"  Nay,  Ferrando,  nay !  I  but  desire  to  hear  you  say 
that  you  have  not  utterly  abandoned  me,  to  know  that 
I  am  not  altogether  alone  in  the  universe  in  the  presence 
of  that  God  whom  I  betrayed,"  exclaimed  the  lady  of 
the  Torre  del  Diavolo.  "  Tell  me  that  you  do  not  despise 
and  loathe  me,  as  I  do  myself!  Remember  that,  though 
I  have  lost  all,  I  have  lost  all  for  you!  Remember  that 
I  was  the  bride  of  Christ,  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  first 
Apulian  houses,  innocent,  happy,  loved !  Remember  what 
I  was  once  and  what  I  am  now,  —  a  wretch  under  the 
malediction  of  heaven  and  earth,  —  an  outcast  of  the 
illustrious  house  whose  fair  name  I  have  darkened,  —  re- 
member all  the  oaths  which  you  have  broken,  remember 
that  —  oh,  what  have  I  not  suffered  and  lost  for  you ! 
And  can  I,  can  I  ever  forgive  you,  Ferrando?  Can  I 
ever  do  aught  but  hate  and  curse  you  and  wear  out  my 
soul  in  imprecations  on  your  head  ?  " 

"  Curse  me  —  curse  me,  then,  my  lovely  flower.  I  for 
my  part  will  content  myself  with  kissing  your  sweet 
pouting  lips,"  said  the  duke,  renewing  his  caresses.  "  But 
do  you,  too,  reproach  me  with  my  miseries  on  this  ill- 
starred  and  unwilling  journey  of  mine?  For  your  frenzy 
must  be  running  on  that  particular  point." 

"  Yes,  traitor  —  yes,  fathomless  betrayer !  "  exclaimed 
Francesca,  with  sudden  fury,  while  she  tore  herself  from 
his  embrace.  "  And  dare  you  with  unblushing  face  speak 
tp  me  of  that  consummation  of  all  perfidy,  that  perjury 


Ube  Uorre  bel  Dfavolo  79 

unmatched,  which  alone  shall  damn  you  below  the  black- 
est fiends  of  hell,  —  the  betrayers  of  a  thousand  genera- 
tions of  men?  Villain  —  villain  —  villain!  Is  this  your 
pledge,  sworn  by  oaths  that  made  the  stars  turn  pale, 
that  you  would  make  me  your  queen,  your  wife  ?  " 

One  of  the  sisters  smiled  and  began  mumbling  in  her 
teeth,  but  the  other  breathlessly  signed  to  her  not  to  in- 
terrupt the  conversation,  so  much  to  her  malign  and  mis- 
anthropic taste. 

"  I  remember  the  occasion  well,"  said  the  duke,  in  a 
cajoling  and  yet  ironical  tone.  "  You  remind  me  well, 
my  bright  Francesca.  We  were  in  the  vineyards  of  the 
gloomy  Carmelites,  where  they  had  imprisoned  you  —  I 
was  then  aspiring  to  the  honours  of  the  Church  —  just 
like  yourself.  I  was  leading  you  to  my  ladder  of  ropes  on 
the  wall  where  good  old  Friar  Martino  trained  his  choicest 
figs,  and  you  were  as  reluctant  to  follow  me  as  if  it  had 
been  to  leave  paradise,  weeping  and  turning  your  proud, 
snowy  neck  toward  the  convent  walls  —  what  could  I 
do  but  promise?  But  was  it  for  an  intellect  like  yours, 
which  unites  the  greatest  qualities  of  men's  even  with 
the  most  passionate  and  wayward  of  women's,  to  believe 
me  —  or  to  think  that  Heaven  would  ratify  an  oath  which 
would  make  us  perjurers  to  itself?" 

"  But  hell  at  least  has  confirmed  it,  Ferrando !  You 
have  thrown  off  the  priestly  shackles  of  which  a  bribed 
pontiflF  has  too  willingly  absolved  you.  You  are  on  your 
way,  if  your  soul  quail  not  before  the  awful  deed,  to  that 
empire  which  I  was  to  have  shared,  and  which  another 
is  to  mount  with  you  —  but  you  err,  Ferrando,  you  err, 
else  you  know  me  not!  I  swear  to  you  that  she  shall 
never  be  yours,  that  she  shall  never  share  with  you  that 
throne  which  you  are  planning  to  mount  by  the  most 


8o  (Tastel  t)el  /iDonte 

matchless  treachery.  Oh,  how  I  hate  you  —  how  I  hate 
you!" 

The  duke  glanced  in  the  direction  of  the  witches,  whom 
he  suspected  or  knew  to  be  listening,  and  softened  his 
voice  to  a  degree  which  made  it  impossible  for  them  to 
understand  the  words  with  which  he  soothed  the  excited 
girl. 

"  Yea,  my  Francesca,  soul  of  my  soul !  I  have  mounted, 
and  ever  by  your  means,  until  nothing  but  the  highest 
remains  to  be  attained !  "  He  paused  and  fixed  his  eyes 
upon  her  with  passionate  and  mournful  expression.  "  And 
would  you  dash  me  back  into  darkness,  dispel  the  visions 
of  my  dream  just  as  they  are  about  to  change  into 
brilliant  reaUty?  Would  you  —  and  why?  You  have 
allowed  yourself  to  be  overcome  by  an  unreasoning 
jealousy,  fit  only  to  be  entertained  by  the  lowest  of 
your  sex,  above  whom  your  glorious  and  heroic  spirit 
has  ever  set  you,  when  you  ought  to  glory  in  the  knowl- 
edge that  this  soul  is  yours,  yours  for  time  and  eternity, 
and  has  never  wavered  in  its  faith." 

"  Traitor !  Matchless  traitor !  "  exclaimed  Francesca, 
wildly.  "  But  I  will  not  pass  away  without  my  ven- 
geance, and  then  I  only  wish  that  I  might  sink  back 
into  that  state  of  oblivion  from  which  I  have  been  evoked 
only  to  suffer." 

"  What  can  you  do,  Francesca  ?  "  said  the  duke,  with 
a  smile.  "  If  I  had  feared  your  vengeance  on  this  your 
imaginary  rival,  if  I  had  not  known  —  that  even  seeing 
her  beauty  you  must  know — that  my  soul,  which  had  been 
twined  in  fire  with  yours,  could  never  mingle  with  an- 
other —  if  I  really  loved  her,  deem  you  that  I  would  have 
trusted  her  alone  in  this  city  during  mine  absence  with- 
out command  to  keep  you  in  reality  a  prisoner,  since  you 
are  one  only  in  name  ?  " 


Uhc  Uotxc  &el  Diavolo  st 

"  And  are  you  assured  that  your  command  would  have 
been  obeyed  ?  "  exclaimed  Francesca,  pressing  both  hands 
against  her  bosom,  as  if  to  repress  its  violent  heavings. 
"  Have  I  not  brought  you  hither  by  a  spell,  you  cruel, 
unmerciful  betrayer?  And  could  not  one  of  equal  power 
have  rescued  me  from  your  castle  and  your  Spaniards' 
clutches  ?  " 

"  Now,  by  St.  Peter,  I  swear  I  believe  that  you  have 
a  spell  and  one  irresistible,"  returned  the  duke,  seizing 
the  indignant  girl  and  clutching  her  in  his  fierce  embrace, 
despite  her  struggles  and  wrath.  "  But  you  do  love  me," 
he  continued,  in  soothing  tones ;  "  have  you  not  lost 
heaven  itself  for  me?  Are  you  not  the  talisman  of  my 
power?  For  without  your  love  to  reward,  your  zeal  to 
second,  your  courage  to  prompt,  would  I  not  be  still 
a  whimpering  priest,  a  whining  monk,  cursing  the  altars 
at  which  he  kneels  ?  Moreover,  my  love,  you  are  so 
wholly  mine  that  you  cannot  in  any  way  harm  me  with- 
out harming  yourself  a  thousandfold." 

"And  what  could  your  power  —  all  mankind  —  do 
against  me  ?  "  said  the  girl,  with  a  smile  of  supernatural 
despair.  "  What  if  I  had  yielded  to  the  impulse  that 
urged  me  on,  as  with  an  angel's  fiery  sword,  to  rush  from 
my  prison  and  to  proclaim  your  crimes  in  the  presence 
of  all  the  Italian  world  now  assembled  within  these 
gates  ?    They  would  have  believed  me !  " 

"And  what  would  they  have  believed?  It  is  indeed 
not  altogether  incredible  that  a  priest  might  err,  or  that 
a  youthful  nun  might  discover  that  the  blood  in  her  veins 
flowed  somewhat  warmer  than  melting  ice,"  replied  the 
duke,  tranquilly.  "  But  should  you  revive  an  ancient 
charge  against  me,  you  know,  who  would  gainsay  you  ?  " 

"  To  shelter  you  from  the  just  retribution  for  your 
crimes,  to  baffle  the  vengeance  of  my  noble  kinsman," 


8s  Castel  del  jflDonte 

replied  Francesca,  vehemently.  "  Ah,  what  heavier  ven- 
geance could  you  imprecate  upon  my  guilty  head!  Ah, 
aged  Lesina,  thy  curse  is  now  exhausted.  Hopeless  days 
and  sleepless  nights,  terror  and  remorse  —  despair  and 
desolation  for  ever  around  me !  Oh !  Needed  it  but  this, 
your  last,  irrevocable  treason,  betrayer,  to  fill  to  over- 
flowing the  cup  of  my  bitterness  ?  " 

"  Wherefore,  then,  did  you  not  tarry  in  the  convent 
whence  I  took  you,  for  another,  to  whom  you  could  have 
given  yourself  with  less  remorse  ? "  replied  the  duke, 
darkening  into  livid  pallor.  "  I  trow,  if  all  the  truth  were 
known,  the  fruit  was  ripe  for  the  gathering,  and  it  was 
but  a  question  into  whose  lap  it  was  to  fall." 

"  You  say  not  this  to  me,  Ferrando,  as  meaning  it  — 
you  do  not,  you  dare  not ! "  exclaimed  Francesca,  shrink- 
ing back,  while  the  pallor  of  death  overspread  her 
features,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  with  an  almost  super- 
natural glow.  "  But  it  is  impossible  —  O  God,  let  this 
at  least  be  impossible!  Ferrando,  I  but  desired  your 
presence  here  to  tell  you  how  I  hated,  loathed,  despised 
you !    To  bid  you  farewell  for  ever !  " 

"  Shall  we  remove  the  image,  daughter,  or  close  it  up 
in  the  marble,  as  the  wizard  bade  us,  to  preserve  thy 
lover  ever  loving  and  bring  him  continually  back  to  thine 
arms,  like  a  bird  to  its  nest  ?  "  said  Moira,  with  a  hideous 
grin  of  scorn  and  malice,  her  serpent  eyes  overflowing 
with  fiendish  delight  and  cunning. 

The  duke  turned  toward  the  interrogator,  with  a  deep 
and  grotesque  bow. 

"  Your  pardon,  fascinating  graces,  for  not  previously 
baring  my  head  to  your  worshipful  presence !  But  what 
say  you,  love,  my  own  Francesca  —  what  shall  the  grisly 
mothers  do?  "    The  duke  turned  from  the  witches  to  his 


XTbe  Uorre  &el  5)tavolo  8j 

beautiful  victim,  gazing  upon  her  with  eyes  fraught  with 
fire. 

Shame  and  passion,  pride  and  disdain,  struggled  for 
some  instants  in  his  captive's  haughty  bosom,  and  alter- 
nately whitened  and  crimsoned  her  beautiful  face,  like  the 
rose  and  snowy  lights  of  an  Alpine  sunset.  But  it  was 
not  hard  to  predict  which  emotion  would  ultimately 
triumph  in  her  tempestuous  spirit,  and  as  she  sank  in  an 
agony  of  shame  and  love  into  her  betrayer's  arms,  the 
weird  sisters  seemed  in  need  of  no  further  instruction. 

While  Ferrando  of  Altamura  poured  forth  a  torrent  of 
passionate  assurances  and  loving  upbraidings  of  her 
doubts,  the  two  sisters,  muttering  diverse  recondite  spells, 
proceeded  to  cover  the  sarcophagus  with  a  lid  which 
seemed  to  belong  to  it.  When  this  was  completed,  the 
older  of  the  hags  melted  some  lead  in  an  earthen  pot 
filled  with  naphtha,  after  which  they  proceeded  to  solder 
up  the  sarcophagus  with  many  additional  rites  and  cere- 
monies. 

"  You  triumph,  Ferrando,  you  triumph,  but  you  know 
me  not !  I  desire  to  be  henceforth  only  your  friend,  — 
your  adviser,  if  you  will,  but  your  love  —  nevermore !  " 
started  the  girl,  with  a  new  outbreak  of  womanly  wrath 
and  shame.  Then  <;he  continued :  "  Leave  me  now ! 
My  heart  is  sufficiently  comforted;  I  have  seen  you,  I 
know  you  do  not  hate  me  —  'tis  enough.  Return  to  your 
palazzo  and  leave  me  to  my  lonely  anguish.  I  will  watch 
you  to  the  gates  from  my  tower,  and  as  the  last  torch 
vanishes  within  I  shall  know  that,  although  another  awaits 
your  coming,  you  are  remembering  that  here,  in  the  halls 
of  my  father's  palace,  you  first  did  behold  me,  an  inno- 
cent child  at  my  grandsire's  feet,  wreathing  in  careless 
joy  a  garland  of  flowers  to  deck  the  gray  hairs  which  I 
was  to  bring  to  the  grave  with  sorrpw  and  disgrace." 


84  Castel  ^el  /l>onte 

Even  the  duke  was  touched  by  this  melancholy  recol- 
lection. 

"  Nay,  my  love,  my  own  Francesca !  Even  by  the 
memory  that  still  haunts  me  of  that  enchanting  past,  I 
shall  not  leave  you  until  you  have  sworn  to  love  me  as 
wholly  and  faithfully  as  you  did  then,"  he  said,  vehe- 
mently. "  And  hear  me,  when  in  return  I  pledge  myself 
by  all  my  hopes  of  empire  and  greatness  —  the  hour  is 
nigh  when  you  shall  indeed  be  nearer  to  me  than  ever, 
in  very  truth  my  queen  and  —  Empress  of  Italy !  " 

Weeping,  but  listening  not  unsoothed  to  the  flattering 
sounds,  Francesca  murmured  some  scarcely  articulate 
words  to  the  busy  hags,  to  which  they  nodded  assent. 
With  an  irresolute  glance  at  the  duke,  she  yet  suffered 
him  to  follow  her  in  the  ascent  of  the  pillar,  but  so  rapidly 
did  she  precede  him  that,  not  being  accustomed  to  its 
giddy  rotations,  he  was  left  considerably  in  the  rear. 

On  reaching  the  summit  the  duke  encountered  Crivello 
with  a  torch,  but  Francesca  had  vanished. 

"  Where  is  the  lady  ?  Has  she  not  passed  you,  Cri- 
vello ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  No,  signor,  no !  "  returned  the  Catalan,  much  startled. 
"  Yet  I  have  been  awaiting  your  Excellency  for  a  long 
and  tedious  hour." 

"  This  is  most  singular,"  said  the  duke,  with  a  momen- 
tary feeling  of  superstitious  awe.  "  It  would  almost 
seem  that  she  has  discovered  the  secret  of  walking  in- 
visible, and  yet,  in  truth,  there  must  needs  be  some  magic 
in  her  spell,  for  hardly  in  the  maddest  days  of  my  love 
for  her  did  her  coyish  pranks  prove  as  irksome  to  me 
as  now.  I  will  not  leave  the  torre  till  I  have  found 
her." 

"  'Tis  looking  in  vain,  signor,  if  she  is  bent  on  the 
contrary,"  said  Crivello.     "But  I  must  needs   remind 


Ube  XTorre  &el  Biavolo  8$ 

your  Excellency  of  the  great  company  which  awaits 
you  —  " 

"  State  affairs  have  detained  me !  Lend  me  your  torch ! 
This  capricious  girl  shall  not  thus  sport  with  the  flames 
she  has  aroused,"  returned  the  duke,  impatiently,  and, 
snatching  the  torch,  he  began  his  exploration  with  an 
eagerness  and  perseverance  which  yielded  only  after  long 
and  fruitless  efforts  to  Crivello's  convictions  of  its  use- 
lessness. 

It  was  easily  ascertained  that  Francesca  could  not 
have  retired  to  her  own  apartments,  for  none  of  the  sen- 
tinels, whom  she  must  have  passed,  had  seen  the  least 
sign  of  such  an  apparition. 

"  She  has  indeed  discovered  a  spell  which,  by  our 
Lady,  had  she  known  it  earlier,  might  have  kept  me  en- 
slaved long  ere  it  did  befall,"  said  the  duke,  with  an  air 
of  vexation.  "  But  look  to  it,  captain,  that  I  find  her 
in  sight  at  my  next  visit,  or  I  shall  deem  that  you  are  in 
the  trick  too.  And  bid  her  summon  her  wizard,  that  he 
may  match  his  skill  with  mine,  for  he  must  needs  be 
great  in  a  science  of  which  I  am  curious.  Why  stare 
you  so  at  me  with  your  stony  eyes  ?  Learn  to  obey  with- 
out thinking,  else  Satan  may  pinch  you  with  ten  thousand 
red-hot  pincers !  Let  us  begone !  Crivello  —  I  appoint 
you  castellan  of  the  torre !  " 

And  while  the  abashed  Catalan  was  bowing  his  silent 
acknowledgments,  the  duke  unwillingly  prepared  to  quit 
the  gloomy  passages  of  the  Torre  del  Diavolo. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

FA VARA 

Fevered  with  agitation  and  ruminating  on  the  events 
of  the  day,  with  mind  and  feelings  so  hopelessly  per- 
plexed that  he  did  not  even  note  the  conspicuous  absence 
of  Canaletto,  Ottorino  returned  to  the  palace  of  Khalesa. 
The  sea  shone  with  the  glory  of  the  setting  sun,  the  air 
was  calm,  and  the  white  surf,  tinged  with  the  crimson 
of  sunset,  broke  lightly  on  the  sands.  But  the  Lombard 
heeded  not  the  dazzling  splendour  of  his  surroundings, 
not  the  massy  barriers  of  mountains  beyond,  with  forests 
rising  from  their  base,  and  precipices  frowning  over  the 
forests,  nor  the  fleecy  clouds  resting  on  their  summits, 
reddened  with  the  reflection  of  the  west.  A  thousand 
and  one  thoughts,  desires,  and  fears,  as  new  to  him  as 
their  force  seemed  overwhelming,  rushed  through  his 
brain.  At  last  then  he  had  met  face  to  face  the  lady  of 
Miraval,  —  and  the  spell  of  her  beauty  was  upon  him. 

Without  a  spice  of  the  vanity  of  the  coxcomb  in  his 
lofty  and  austere  character,  the  Lombard  could  yet  not 
have  failed  to  observe  that  Helena  di  Miraval's  eyes  had 
discoursed  to  him  something  warmer  than  the  gratitude 
due  to  a  deliverer  even  from  so  great  a  peril.  Again  and 
again  he  recalled  to  memory  every  trait  of  that  exquisite 
face,  the  lovely  mouth,  the  dark,  fathomless  eyes,  and  he 
felt  himself  irresistibly  drawn  toward  the  enchantress. 

§6 


jfavara  87 

But  then  the  fatal  rumours  current  about  the  kinswoman 
of  the  Duke  of  Altamura  pressed  their  sharp  thorn  deeply 
into  his  heart.  The  sudden  and  mysterious  demise  of 
the  lady  of  Miraval's  apparently  most  favoured  suitors 
was  not  the  outgrowth  of  a  lying  chronicler's  fancy,  who 
for  the  turn  of  an  epigram,  or  to  give  his  sonnet  an 
acuter  sting,  would  have  blackmailed  the  devil  himself. 
The  tale  of  Azzo  of  Gioja,  who,  persisting  in  his  suit,  was 
found  strangled  on  the  steps  of  the  cathedral,  after  hav- 
ing ignored  the  warning  conveyed  to  him  in  a  golden 
ewer,  revealing  a  skull  when  he  uncovered  the  dish, — 
this  was  more  than  the  idle  tale  of  varlets  and  drunken 
condottieri  to  shorten  the  watch  at  a  camp-fire. 

In  the  sway  of  these  conflicting  emotions,  in  this  strug- 
gle between  love  and  fear,  Ottorino  conceived  a  project 
which  was  fully  in  keeping  with  the  ideas  of  his  land 
and  his  own  frame  of  mind,  but  which  was  probably  not 
uninfluenced  by  the  superstitious  feeling  to  which  the 
associations  of  his  whole  life  had  subjected  even  his 
powerful  intellect.  The  thought  occurred  to  him  to  seek 
the  presence  of  the  Dominican,  stating  to  him  the  doubts 
•which  filled  his  mind  in  regard  to  the  duke,  under  pre- 
tence of  learning  the  latter 's  position  in  the  new  Ghibel- 
line  state.  A  look  or  even  a  gesture  of  the  monk  might 
throw  more  light  into  the  darkness  than  any  words  he 
was  likely  to  speak.  And  he  felt  that  he  dared  not  trust 
himself  in  the  presence  of  either  the  duke  or  the  lady  till 
he  had  set  his  mind  at  rest,  for  fear  lest  he  should  betray 
the  secret  of  his  heart. 

Without  confiding  his  intent  to  any  one,  and  so  care- 
fully guarding  his  secret  that  he  even  disdained  to  in- 
quire the  direction  of  the  Dominican's  habitation,  Otto- 
rino set  out  on  foot  to  find  the  latter's  abode. 

The  night  was  sultry  but  clear.    The  moon  had  risen 


88  Castel  ^el  a^ontc 

high  in  the  heavens  as  the  Visconti  traversed  the  romantic 
wilderness  surrounding  the  palace  of  Khalesa.  Here  were 
no  trained  trees  and  hedges,  all  was  free  and  unrestrained 
nature,  lavish  and  thriving  without  the  aid  of  man.  Not 
even  the  paths  betrayed  the  least  care  in  their  preser- 
vation. Huge  plane-trees  lifted  their  heads  above  holm- 
oaks  and  gnarled  quinces,  and  the  broad-leafed  fig  glis- 
tened by  the  side  of  the  gray-green  olive.  A  wild  con- 
fusion of  brushwood  and  creepers  bordered  the  narrow 
path ;  ivy,  periwinkle,  and  acanthus  entangled  the  giants 
of  the  wood  with  almost  inextricable  network.  Maiden- 
hair hung  in  luxurious  tufts  above  myrtles  and  bays,  and 
sombre  evergreen  contrasted,  as  light  and  shadow,  with 
the  brilliant  centifolia.  The  whole  plant  world  of  a  trop- 
ical clime  held  here  its  intoxicating  orgy,  while  deep  in 
the  recesses  of  the  enchanting  wilderness,  like  the  palace 
of  a  magician,  built  of  liquid  silver,  rose  with  its  marble 
shafts  and  glittering  cupolas  the  Moorish  palace  of 
Favara. 

Like  a  miniature  paradise,  such  as  the  fantastic  Mos- 
lem mind  conceived  it,  the  magnificent  gardens  of 
Almenani  and  Favara  encircled  their  fairy  kiosks  with 
murmuring  fountains,  lawns  intersected  by  walls  of 
blossoming  shrubs,  groves  of  camellias  and  azaleas,  and 
airy  groups  of  bamboos,  the  lanceolated  foliage  of  which 
shivered  in  the  soft  night  wind  like  supple  ribbons  of 
brilliant  metallic  green.  The  dream-palace  itself  was 
surrounded  by  rose  gardens,  exhibiting  specimens  of 
every  known  variety  against  a  background  of  almond- 
trees  in  full  bloom,  while  an  incongruous  profusion  of 
flowers  cast  their  intoxicating  perfumes  amid  the  inter- 
lacing branches,  forming  a  natural  trellised  roof  over- 
head. Pink  and  white  myrtles,  golden-hued  jonquils, 
rainbow-tinted  chrysanthemums,   purple  rhododendrons. 


yavara  89 

irises,  lilacs,  and  magnolias  mixed  their  odours  in  an 
almost  intoxicating  perfume,  while  rare  orchids  raised 
their  glowing  petals  with  tropical  gorgeousness  in  the 
moonlight. 

The  sky  was  radiant,  and  the  magic  lustre  of  a  great 
white  moon,  hanging  like  an  alabaster  lamp  in  the  deep 
blue  overhead,  invaded  the  sombre  bosquets  of  Favara, 
and  lit  the  trellised  rose-walks  to  the  marble  palace,  cast- 
ing into  bold  relief  against  the  deep  shadows  of  palm 
and  ilex  the  many  feathery  jets  of  water  which  rose  and 
fell  with  whispers  of  coolness  in  the  flower-filled  basins 
of  alabaster. 

Ottorino  gazed  in  silent  admiration  upon  this  now 
deserted  wonder-world,  then  slowly  continuing  upon  his 
way,  he  entered  the  deep  solitude  of  a  grove  formed  of 
blooming  oleander  and  magnolias,  amidst  which,  at  fre- 
quent intervals,  glittered  the  spray  of  Arabian  fountains 
in  the  moonlight. 

"  Can  paradise  be  more  loVely  ? "  he  murmured,  as, 
oblivious  of  his  goal,  he  paused  to  survey  the  scene.  "  Is 
there  a  spot  on  earth  more  beautiful  than  this  enchanted 
wood?  It  calls  forth  in  the  soul  the  wish  for  some  one 
to  love,  some  one  to  confide  in  —  " 

He  paused,  and  with  face  pale  and  anxious  gazed  long 
and  intently  at  the  stars,  while  the  rays  of  the  moon 
broke  on  the  playful  waters  of  the  cascade  and  tinged 
with  silver  the  breathless  foliage  of  the  cypress-trees. 
And  his  heart  whispered  a  name  to  his  lips,  a  name  so 
sweet,  so  passionately  loved,  that  he  longed  to  cry  it  out 
to  the  stars  above,  to  the  pale,  silent  moon,  that  shed 
her  mysterious  radiance  over  the  fantastic  plumage  of 
trees  waving  in  the  dreamy  night  air,  then  through  the 
enchanted  stillness  floated  trembling,  as  if  in  dread  of 
its  own  sound,  as  if  in  dread  of  the  slumbering  echoes 


90  Castel  ^el  /l)onte 

that  might  whisper  it  to  dreaming  flower  and  tree,  the 
name : 

"Helena!    Helena!" 

"  What  fairy  answers  to  this  invocation  ? "  a  voice, 
which  strangely  thrilled  his  whole  being,  said,  closely  by 
his  side,  and  before  him,  both  hands  extended,  her  match- 
lessly beautiful  face  uplifted,  and  with  the  inscrutable, 
velvety  eyes  fixed  upon  his  own,  stood  Helena  di  Miraval. 

For  a  moment  the  Lombard  gazed  speechlessly  into  the 
eyes  that  held  his  own  with  their  magic  spell.  Then,  not 
daring  to  touch  the  proffered  hands,  he  faltered: 

"  Nay,  —  if  fairy  it  be,  she  hath  indeed  acknowledged 
the  spell,  and  her  presence  removes  the  sting  of  remorse 
for  my  unwitting  intrusion  into  her  realms." 

"  I  lord  not  this  domain,  which  I  but  invaded  in  quest 
of  a  knowledge  I  would  fain  acquire,  if  it  be  within 
human  ken  to  satisfy  the  thirst  that  consumes  my  soul," 
said  Helena  di  Miraval.  "  Stranger  that  you  are  in 
Palermo,  it  may  be  unknown  to  you  that  in  this  abode 
dwells  Ben  Hussein,  the  astrologer,  —  the  familiar  of  the 
old  emperor  and  of  Manfred,  the  king." 

"  Then  you  came  to  consult  the  stars  ?  "  Ottorino  fal- 
tered, almost  revealing  his  kindred  intent.  "  But  may 
not  the  fairy  of  Favara  divine  events  to  come  without  aid 
of  astrologer  or  wizard  ?  " 

The  lady  of  Miraval  shook  her  beautiful  head,  while  a 
smile,  intoxicating  yet  strangely  imbued  with  a  tinge  of 
sadness,  hovered  around  her  lips. 

"  Alas  —  even  the  present  is  to  her  a  mystery,  which 
it  lies  but  in  the  power  of  him  to  solve  who  is  lord  of 
its  key.  But  since  by  fate  or  chance  we  meet  again,  here 
and  at  this  hour,  let  me  again  thank  you  for  the  life 
you  have  saved,  a  gift  made  doubly  precious  bestowed 
by  your  hands  I  " 


favava  9^ 

Ottorino  bent  over  the  beautiful  white  hands  extended 
to  him,  and  pressed  his  Hps  upon  them  in  fervent  ecstasy. 
Then  raising  his  eyes,  he  gazed  upon  her  with  a  sense 
of  mingled  dread  and  worship,  as  one  might  look  upon 
an  idol,  too  high  removed  for  love,  and  yet  demanding 
divine  adoration.  Then,  seized  by  an  hysterical  passion 
beyond  his  control,  forgetful  of  all  consequences,  for- 
getful of  his  own  resolves,  he  spoke  in  a  voice  filled  with 
emotion : 

"  Helena  —  Helena !  The  man  to  whom  love  has  been 
but  as  a  sealed  book  has  met  his  fate !  What  shall  I  say 
to  you  but  that  I  worship  you  with  all  the  strength  of 
my  life,  that  I  love  you  so  deeply  that  I  am  afraid  to 
think  of  it,  that  I  love  you  with  a  passion  I  dare  not 
dwell  upon,  too  well,  too  madly  for  my  own  peace.  For- 
give the  madness  that  has  broken  all  barriers  of  restraint, 
the  frenzy  which  mocks  alike  at  studied  hour  and  phrase 
—  I  love  you,  I  love  you !  " 

Benumbed  by  his  own  daring,  he  paused,  trembling, 
breathless. 

Not  a  sound  echoed  through  the  long  cypress  avenues 
of  Favara,  only  amidst  groves  of  myrtle  and  aloe  the 
nightingale  sang  her  song  of  love. 

Helena's  eyes  were  alight  with  a  strange  lustre,  which 
seemed  not  love  as  much  as  fear,  and  her  very  lips  paled 
at  Ottorino's  passionate  outburst. 

"  Did  it  then  come  so  suddenly  ?  "  she  whispered,  al- 
most inaudibly.     "  Did  it  then  come  so  suddenly  ?  " 

"  As  sudden  as  fate  and  as  resistless,"  the  Lombard 
replied.  "  I  had  not  loved  till  the  hour  we  met,  when 
the  god  in  my  heart  leaped  forth  to  greet  the  god  in  your 
eyes,  and  as  certain  as  you  are  the  first  woman  to  whom 
Ottorino  Visconti  has  spoken  words  of  love,  as  certain 


9»>  Castel  ^el  /»onte 

will  you  be  the  only  one  that  he  will  love  to  his  life's 
end." 

He  paused,  drawing  a  deep  breath,  while  with  the 
silent  yet  irresistible  magnetism  of  her  eyes  she  held  his 
gaze.  The  same  bewildering,  intoxicating  siren  smile 
played  around  Helena  di  Miraval's  beautiful  mouth,  while 
she  regarded  him  with  strangely  musing  glances. 

"  You  say  you  love  me,"  she  said,  slowly,  and  with 
singular  trepidation,  "and  yet  you  do  not  know  me! 
You  tell  me  you  love  me  in  the  face  of  my  beauty's  fatal 
spell,  whose  fame  had  reached  your  ears  long  ere  your 
eyes  gazed  into  mine.  What  certainty  is  yours  that  I 
am  not  toying  with  you,  how  know  you  that  I  came  not 
hither  to  elicit  from  your  lips  the  confession  I  read  at 
our  first  meeting  in  your  eyes,  as  I  read  therein  the 
horror  when  by  the  duke's  gentle  address  my  identity 
was  revealed  to  you  ?  How  know  you  that  I  am  not  here 
to  lure  you  on  to  that  abyss  of  darkness  wherein  lie 
rotting  Helena  di  Miraval's  countless  lovers  —  nay,  look 
not  so  frightened !  You  did  not  trust  me  then  —  why 
trust  me  now  ?    I  saw  you  start  —  so  did  the  duke !  " 

She  paused,  noting  the  deadly  pallor  that  had  over- 
spread the  Lombard's  features ;  then,  freeing  her  hands, 
she  faced  him  in  the  whole  splendour  of  her  unrivalled 
beauty.    As  he  made  no  response,  she  continued,  softly: 

"  For  the  life  you  have  bestowed  on  Helena  di  Miraval, 
let  her  give  you  another  in  return.  Fly,  Visconti  —  fly 
from  Palermo  —  as  if  the  plague  were  on  your  heels.  Too 
long  have  you  tarried  even  now.  Abandon  your  suit  and 
forget  her  who  is  unworthy  of  a  love  so  exalted,  but  who 
will  always  remember  her  noble  preserver." 

Ottorino  had  gradually  recovered  his  self-possession, 
of  which  the  lady  of  Miraval's  speech  had  almost  de- 


f  av>ata  9$ 

prived  him,  but  a  strained  look  came  into  his  eyes  as  he 

replied : 

"  I  care  not  to  lift  the  veil  that  enshrines  your  heart, 
Helena!  I  ask  not  what  brought  you  hither;  whether 
it  was  the  fervent  prayer  of  my  soul,  or  chance,  or  fate. 
I  love  you,  love  you  so,  that  if  your  decree  turns  light 
into  darkness  I  shall  not  appeal  to  the  future  hour.  If 
you  cannot  love  me  as  I  do  you,  say  so  now !  I  cannot 
share  your  love  with  another!  I  want  you  all  my  own, 
every  beat  of  your  heart,  every  fibre  of  your  being,  every 
atom  of  your  soul !  Palermo  I  will  not  leave  —  unless  it 
be  with  you !  I  have  laid  at  your  feet  all  I  call  my  own, 
and  in  your  hands,  Helena,  you  hold  the  threads  of  my 
destiny !  " 

There  was  an  austere  loftiness  in  his  speech  that  went 
straight  to  the  woman's  heart.  Softly  and  entreatingly 
the  words  came  from  her  lips,  and  as  she  spoke  Ottorino 
again  clasped  the  firm  white  hands  within  his  own,  listen-- 
ing  to  her  speech  in  a  delirium  of  ecstasy. 

"  You  will  not  heed  my  warning  —  listen  to  my  words, 
Ottorino,"  she  said,  dwelling  on  his  name,  as  if  it  reluc- 
tantly parted  from  her  lips.  "  The  duke,  my  kinsman,  has 
plans  of  his  own,  plans  regarding  myself  which  I  tremble 
even  to  surmise.  Have  you  the  courage  to  love  me  in 
the  face  of  what  awaits  us  if  the  duke  should  discover 
our  attachment  before  we  could  place  ourselves  beyond 
the  reach  of  his  dire  temper,  and  in  the  face  of  what 
the  world  has  said  and  will  continue  to  say  of  Helena 
diMiraval?" 

"  Say  but  that  you  love  me,  and  I  will  believe  you 
against  the  whole  world ! "  the  Lombard  stammered, 
passionately,  as  with  gentle  force  he  drew  her  down  to 
a  seat  beside  him. 

"  I  love  you,"  she  whispered,  with  her  arms  about  him, 


94  Castel  t)el  HDonte 

"  I  loved  you  from  the  moment  when  your  gaze  of  lofty 
pride  fell  upon  me,  —  when  opening  mine  eyes  from 
the  trance  I  gazed  into  those  of  my  preserver !  And  you 
no  longer  dread  this  fatal  spell  of  mine,  which  has 
wrought  such  havoc  among  the  fluttering  hearts  of  men, 
—  you  fear  not  to  lose  me  just  at  the  moment  when  our 
happiness  seems  most  complete  ?  " 

"  I  do  fear,"  he  replied,  "  and  who,  that  truly  loves, 
does  not  ?    But  I  fear  not  you,  my  Helena,  only  for  you !  " 

A  dreamy  radiance  lingered  in  her  beautiful  eyes  as  she 
responded  to  his  caresses.  Not  a  sound  broke  the  quiet 
of  the  hour  save  the  monotonous  plaint  of  an  owl  among 
the  leafy  boughs.  The  old  oaks  wove  a  carpet  of  shadows 
around  them,  changing  the  patterns  of  its  tissue  con- 
stantly upon  the  velvety  moss-ground ;  the  magnolias  dis- 
tilled their  perfume  through  the  still  shade;  the  soft 
breeze  of  night  had  gone  down,  and  the  smooth  surface 
of  the  lake  lay  like  a  shield  of  molten  gold,  reflecting  the 
light  of  the  planet  that  rules  our  dreams. 

At  last  Helena  broke  the  silence. 

"  How  beautiful  is  the  hour !  "  she  said,  dreamily.  "  It 
seems  as  if  a  disembodied  spirit  walked  through  our 
hearts,  a  spirit  that  has  seen  all  worlds  and  shared  in  all 
sufferings." 

"  Helena,"  Ottorino  replied,  passionately,  "  the  gift 
of  a  woman's  love,  such  as  yours,  has  been  the  dream, 
the  ambition,  of  my  life!  Forgive  me,  impetuous  as  I 
am,  for  having  forced  my  confession  upon  you  in  this 
hour !  Life  is  too  short  to  curtail  one  moment  of  happi- 
ness from  the  years  full  of  care  which  are  most  men's 
lot.  Since  I  have  set  eyes  upon  you,  I  can  imagine  no 
life,  only  death,  separated  from  you.  It  seems  to  me 
that  you  must  always  have  been  with  me  from  the  be- 


J'avara  9S 

ginning  —  we  were  destined  to  find  each  other,  even  with 
worlds  between  us  !  " 

They  sat  for  some  moments  without  speaking.  Otto- 
rino  could  have  remained  so  for  ever,  gazing  with  rapture 
on  her  half-averted  face,  beaming  with  such  divine 
beauty,  and  all  aglow  with  the  happy  consciousness  of 
his  ardent  admiration.  She  seemed  as  beautiful  as  a 
goddess,  and  in  his  heart,  if  not  on  his  knees,  he  bent 
in  worship  almost  idolatrous.  And  Ottorino  Visconti, 
who  in  the  almost  incessant  broils  of  the  past  decade  had 
faced  death  in  every  form,  trembled  at  the  side  of  this 
most  beautiful  woman  as  he  had  never  trembled  before. 
He  held  the  hands  that  lay  unresistingly  in  his  in  a 
tender  clasp.  He  pressed  them  to  his  lips,  he  sought  to 
divine  by  their  magnetic  touch  his  impending  fate. 
Helena's  face  was  still  averted,  suffused  with  an  unseen 
blush,  yet  she  felt  a  wild  joy  which  no  art  of  dissimula- 
tion could  conceal  flashing  and  leaping  in  her  bosom,  as 
he  whispered  his  fervent  appeals  into  her  ears.  At  last 
she  raised  her  dark,  impassioned  eyes  to  his,  and  their 
souls  met  and  embraced  in  one  long  and  wistful  look  of 
silent  recognition. 

"  I  love  you  —  I  love  you,"  she  stammered,  while  he 
kissed  her  eyes  and  mouth  in  a  wild  ecstasy  of  joy. 

The  words  had  hardly  left  her  lips  when  a  sudden 
crash  of  thunder  rolled  over  their  heads  and  went  peal- 
ing down  the  lake  and  the  distant  valley,  while  a  black 
cloud  suddenly  eclipsed  the  moon,  obscuring  her  silvery 
rays  and  shedding  darkness  over  the  landscape. 

Helena  uttered  a  cry  of  dismay,  while,  startled  and 
frightened,  she  clung  to  Ottorino  for  protection,  as  the 
angry  reverberations  rolled  away  in  the  distant  forests. 

"  Ottorino,"  she  faltered,  "  it  is  as  if  a  dreadful  voi-ce 
had  spoken  —  an  omen  of  evil." 


96  Castel  ^el  /l^onte 

"  It  is  but  a  sudden  thunder-storm,  and  we  had  better 
seek  a  sheltering  roof.  We  love  each  other,  Helena,  and 
hell  itself  may  not  frown  on  us." 

"  I  would  love  you  just  the  same  if  all  the  powers  of 
doom  were  arrayed  against  us,"  she  replied.  "  And  who 
knows — but  what  they  may  be?" 

But  they  had  not  much  time  for  talking,  for  in  ever 
denser  masses  black  clouds  came  rolling  over  the  horizon, 
coming  lower  and  lower,  touching  the  very  earth.  Every 
now  and  then  the  clouds  were  rent  and  split  with  vivid 
flashes  of  lightning,  while  the  rising  wind  overpowered 
with  its  roaring  the  thunder  that  pealed  momentarily 
nearer  and  nearer. 

"  Let  us  seek  shelter  in  the  kiosk,"  said  Ottorino,  "  the 
storm  will  not  be  long,"  and,  starting  down  the  path,  they 
reached  the  quaint  Moorish  structure  just  as  a  blinding 
flash  of  lightning  was  followed  by  an  almost  deafening 
peal  of  thunder.  Helena  clung  to  Ottorino  amidst  the 
tempest  of  wind  and  the  moving  darkness ;  they  caught 
occasional  glimpses  of  each  other  when  the  lightning 
rent  the  gloom  which  had  crept  over  the  slumbering  world 
around.  They  had  barely  reached  the  kiosk  when  the 
rain  came  down  in  broad,  heavy  splashes,  while  the  up- 
roar of  the  elements  seemed  to  efface  every  outline  of 
creation. 

Be  it  that  she  guessed  her  lover's  thoughts  which  his 
tremulous  gestures  and  the  fire  in  his  eyes  betrayed,  be 
it  that  she  feared  to  be  alone  with  him  in  this  solitary 
retreat,  Helena's  manner  suddenly  grew  colder  and  more 
reserved.  She  endeavoured  to  change  that  rhapsody  of 
burning  eloquence,  sweet  though  it  was  to  her  heart,  in 
which  Ottorino  atoned  for  the  intermittent  silence.  But 
the  apprehensions  which  dictated  this  change  of  de- 
meanour   were    in   themselves    dangerously    suggestive. 


The  Lombard's  words  became  strangely  vague  and  ran- 
dom. He  continued  to  gaze  with  a  kind  of  fierceness 
upon  Helena,  while  half  in  fear,  half  in  hope  of  restrain- 
ing his  impetuous  ardour,  she  tried  to  win  from  him  the 
assurance  that  he  would  conceal  his  love  for  her  from 
the  duke. 

"  You  will  require  all  your  love  for  me,  all  your  faith 
and  circumspection,  to  evade  his  snares,"  she  said,  falter- 
ingly.  "  Think  not  of  it  lightly !  I  cannot  always  be 
with  you,  and  once  you  allow  your  faith  to  waver  we 
are  both  lost,  —  you  and  I !  And  since  you  love  me  with 
a  love  strong,  passionate,  and  unchangeable  as  my  own, 
oh,  do  not  mistrust  me,  Ottorino!  Do  not  doubt  me 
even  in  the  face  of  my  having  obeyed  but  my  woman's 
heart  in  surrendering  to  you  that  which  was  your  own ! " 

"  I  love  you  and  I  trust  you !  "  he  replied,  pressing  a 
long,  passionate  kiss  upon  her  lips,  a  kiss  which  seemed 
to  mingle  their  beings  into  one. 

For  a  moment  she  abandoned  herself  to  his  caresses, 
resistlessly  and  with  eyes  closed  in  ecstasy,  then,  releasing 
herself,  she  rose  abruptly. 

"  Swear,  then,  to  leave  me  on  the  instant,  Ottorino," 
she  said,  standing  apart  from  him.  "  I  am  all  yours,  but 
do  not  debase  your  love  to  be  the  thing  her  calumniators 
have  called  her.  The  storm  is  subsiding  and  I  must  re- 
turn before  my  absence  is  discovered.  Do  not  attempt 
to  follow  me  —  I  came  not  hither  entirely  alone,"  she 
concluded,  with  a  bewitching  smile.  "  But  my  attend- 
ants are  discreet,  and  no  mortal  ear  has  dishallowed  the 
sanctity  of  this  hour  I " 

Again  Ottorino  grasped  her  hands. 

"  Nay  —  you  shall  not  thus  leave  me,"  he  stammered, 
"  mocking  with  your  absence  the  longing  of  my  heart  — 
you  shall  not  leave  me  till  my  soul  has  assurance  of  its 


9^'  Castel  t)el  /iDonte 

idol's  response  to  its  impassioned  call!  Why  am  I  to 
avoid  you  ?  Why  must  I  conceal  a  worship  whose  goal  is 
but  the  honour  and  happiness  of  its  object?  Is  Helena  di 
Miraval  not  free  to  love  according  to  the  dictates  of  her 
own  proud  heart  ?  What  have  we  to  fear  from  the  duke  ? 
Let  rather  him  beware  how  he  crosses  our  path ! " 

Helena  di  Miraval  regarded  the  Lombard  with  the 
same  inscrutable  gaze  of  her  fathomless  eyes,  while  a 
smile  lingered  on  her  lips. 

"  The  seed  of  doubt  is  sprouting  even  now  in  your 
heart,"  she  said,  softly.  "  How  will  it  be  when  I  am 
not  with  you?  Little  you  know  of  the  duke,  of  his 
dark  intents,  and  of  the  strange  power  he  wields  over 
me;  a  spell  which  only  love  and  faith  unwavering  can 
break.  Ask  no  more  —  not  now  —  not  here !  I  dread 
the  very  air !  I  love  you,  but  it  were  perilous  for  you  to 
seek  me  out;  trust  yourself  not  alone  in  this  city  after 
this  hour,  and  stray  not  as  near  the  duke's  palace,  as  a 
dove  to  the  nest  of  an  eagle.  You  are  brave  —  but  all 
bravery  were  useless  against  the  bravo's  steel."  She 
paused  for  a  moment  as  if  lost  in  thought,  then,  noting 
the  strained  and  puzzled  look  which  had  passed  into  his 
eyes,  she  extended  her  hands  to  him.  "  I  must  leave 
you  now,"  she  said,  softly.  "  Too  long  have  I  tarried ; 
but  —  if  you  would  have  tidings  from  me  —  be  to-mor- 
row at  vespers  at  the  Convent  of  Santa  Lucia.  Do  you 
trust  me,  Ottorino  ?  " 

"  Forgave  me  —  "  he  faltered.  "  It  is  all  so  strange  to 
me,  - —  do  not  play  with  me,  —  Helena !  " 

"  I  love  you,"  she  replied,  while  her  eyes  seemed  to 
hold  his  own  with  their  subtle  spell,  and  her  fingers 
gently  returned  the  pressure  of  the  hands  that  held 
hers.    "  Time  will  set  all  clear  between  us,  and  all  that 


jfavara  99 

I  fear  even  to  whisper  under  this  sky  shall  be  known  to 
you !  " 

The  storm  had  by  this  time  subsided  almost  as  sud- 
denly as  it  had  broken,  and  a  few  stars  began  to  twinkle 
here  and  there  in  the  transparent  sky.  Ottorino  guided 
Helena's  steps  through  the  purple  dusk  which  pervaded 
the  kiosk,  into  the  gardens,  filled  again  with  glittering 
rays  of  moonlight.  The  rain-drops,  trembling  on  leaves 
and  boughs,  sparkled  like  thousands  of  diamonds,  and 
the  fresh  odours  from  the  rain-washed  flowers  perfumed 
the  air. 

At  the  entrance  of  a  cypress  avenue,  where  fork-like 
the  path  branched  off  in  three  directions,  they  paused. 
Helena  laid  her  hands  on  Ottorino's  shoulders,  while  she 
gazed  intently  and  passionately  into  his  eyes. 

"  And  now,  my  friend,  farewell !  "  she  said,  slowly,  and 
with  trembling  accents,  "To-morrow  at  dusk,  at  the 
convent  of  Santa  Lucia,  —  and,"  she  added,  with  a 
smile,  "mark  well  the  sun-dial  on  the  turret  of  Ab- 
durrhaman ! " 

Once  more  the  Lombard  clasped  her  passionately  to 
his  heart;  once  more  their  lips  met  in  one  long  ecstatic 
kiss,  then  Helena  gently  released  herself  from  his  encir- 
cling arms,  and  a  moment  later  she  had  disappeared  in 
the  hazy  distance  of  the  cypress  avenue. 

For  some  time  Ottorino  stood  where  Helen  had 
left  him,  gazing,  as  one  in  a  trance,  in  the  direction 
whence  she  had  disappeared.  So  absorbed  was  his  mood 
that  he  perceived  not  the  slowly  approaching  form  of  a 
man  in  Saracenic  attire,  who,  muttering  strangely  to 
himself,  had  emerged  from  the  copse. 

Ben  Hussein,  the  astrologer  of  the  court  of  Palermo, 
was  a  man  much  below  the  common  size  of  his  race.  He 
was  small,  spare,  and  slightly  hunchbacked,  yet  in  his 


nfip  dastel  Del  /l^onte 

presence  and  mien  there  was  something  before  which  the 
proudest  noble  bowed  in  submission,  something  that 
seemed  to  tower  above  even  the  majesty  of  royalty.  He 
walked  with  light  and  noiseless  step,  as  if  his  foot 
spurned  to  tread  the  earth.  In  the  carriage  of  his  head 
there  was  something  of  so  indefinable  and  imposing  a 
dignity  that  he  inspired  that  feeling  of  awe  so  insep- 
arably connected  with  the  profession  in  which  he  had 
become  an  adept. 

When  Ottorino,  startled  from  his  reverie  by  a  dark 
shadow  flitting  across  his  path,  beheld  the  bent  form  of 
the  Moor,  he  at  once  divined  his  profession  by  the  magic 
signs  and  characters  emblazoned  upon  the  latter's  snow- 
white  turban  and  upon  his  girdle,  and  his  former  intent 
reverted  to  him. 

"  I  greet  thee,"  he  said,  in  response  to  the  Saracen's 
mute  salutation,  "and  my  heart  rejoices  at  finding  in 
these  solitudes  one  possessed  of  the  power  to  unveil  the 
mysteries  which  baffle  our  mind,  when  the  soul,  finding 
its  earthly  prison  too  narrow,  would  fain  take  its  flight 
into  spheres  which  are  but  a  sealed  book  for  us,  were  it 
not  for  the  wisdom  of  thy  kind !  " 

"  It  was  even  for  revealing  this  science  that  Harut 
and  Marut  were  confined  by  Allah  —  blessed  be  his 
name  —  in  the  walls  of  Babel,"  replied  the  astrologer, 
glancing  wistfully  at  the  Lombard.  "  Thou  wouldst  in- 
quire into  the  decrees  of  those  bright,  heavenly  bodies, 
thou  wouldst  know  if  they  promise  fulfilment  of  thy 
hopes?  The  stars  acknowledge  no  pity ;  passionless  they 
look  down  upon  our  joys  and  our  sorrows,  but  whatever 
there  is  written  therein,  that  will  be  fulfilled." 

"Nay,"  Ottorino  interposed,  beeseechingly,  "since  thou 
hast  not  reproved  my  presence  in  these  thy  solitudes, 
grant  the  prayer  of  my  soul.    I  shall  accept  the  decrees 


favaxa  loi 

of  the  stars  without  fear,  and,  if  it  needs  must  be,  with- 
out hope !  " 

"  The  end  is  in  the  throes  of  its  beginning :  at  Castel 
del  Monte  we  meet  again ! " 

Ere  Ottorino  had  divined  the  intent  of  the  astrologer, 
the  latter  had  disappeared  in  the  copse.  Pondering  over 
his  strange  words,  the  Lombard  slowly  began  to  retrace 
his  steps  toward  Khalesa. 

The  night-wind  rustled  among  the  fragrant  leaves  of 
the  citron  and  pomegranate.  The  silver  tinkling  of  a 
cascade,  hidden  in  groves  of  luxuriant  and  tropical  foliage, 
chimed  melodiously  through  the  verdant  wilderness,  and 
Ottorino  Visconti  disappeared  in  the  night,  carrying  his 
dreaming  heart  along  the  mystic  road  of  destiny. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

COUNT   LANDULF   OF   TRENT 

A  GORGEOUS  train  of  barons,  nobles,  prelates,  and 
knights  poured  through  the  portals  of  the  imperial 
Hohenstaufen  palace  into  the  Sala  Regia.  Between 
marshals  and  heralds  and  halberdiers,  between  Nubian 
slaves  and  Saracenic  guards,  between  Moors  in  fantastic 
garbs  and  eunuchs,  whose  stealthy,  noiseless  steps  were 
lost  amidst  the  spur-clashing  tread  of  the  imperial  guards, 
the  whole  pomp  and  procession  passed  on  in  due  mar- 
shalry,  entering  the  magnificent  council-hall  at  almost 
the  same  time  that  Manfred  descended  from  the  grand 
marble  stairway  at  its  extremity.  He  was  accompanied 
by  the  dignitaries  of  the  realm,  and  followed  by  yet  larger 
groups  of  gilded  officials,  officers  of  illustrious  rank,  lay 
and  clerical,  prelates  from  remote  lands,  princes,  abbots, 
grand  masters  of  the  chief  orders  of  knighthood,  monks, 
pages,  guardsmen,  and  eunuchs. 

Ottorino's  anxiety  to  behold  face  to  face  the  man  who 
had  dictated  his  terms  to  three  pontiffs,  under  whose 
banners  the  Ghibellines  had  vanquished  the  party  of  the 
Guelphs,  was  so  great  that  he  took  care  to  retain  his 
station  in  the  very  front  ranks  of  the  assembly. 

It  needed  not  the  gorgeous  robes  of  royalty,  stiff  with 
cx>stly  gems,  nor  the  ponderous  mantle  of  cloth  of  gold ; 
it  needed  not  the  blazing  circlet  of  Tancred,  the  last  of 

102 


Count  Xan&ult  ot  Xlrent  103 

the  Norman  kings,  nor  the  flambeau  of  the  Hohen- 
staufen,  to  discern  the  person  of  Manfred,  the  glorious 
son  of  Emperor  Frederick  the  Second.  With  the  majesty 
of  Charlemagne,  with  the  grace  of  an  Apollo,  he  faced 
the  assembly.  A  tremendous  shout  of  triumphal  greet- 
ing went  up  from  thousands  and  thousands  of  voices 
within  the  Sala  and  without,  when  their  eyes  beheld  their 
beloved  leader,  the  son  of  a  prince  who  had  been  their 
idol. 

Ottorino's  heart  went  out  at  once  to  the  Prince  of 
Taranto,  as  had  the  hearts  of  Manfred's  Apulian  and 
Sicilian  subjects.  This,  then,  was  the  hero  who  had  torn 
from  the  clutches  of  papacy  the  legacy  left  to  him  by 
an  undaunted  sire;  this  the  champion  who  had  restored 
peace  and  prosperity  among  the  Italian  states;  this  the 
one  who  had  extinguished  the  flaming  torch  of  war, 
which  mortal  hatred  and  relentless  passions  had  tossed 
over  the  divided  and  unhappy  provinces,  once  the  constit- 
uent parts  of  the  great  Roman  empire.  And  the  scion 
of  the  Visconti  of  Milan  could  not  but  admit  to  himself 
that  no  fitter  ruler  of  the  Southlands,  no  fitter  leader  of 
the  great  Ghibelline  confederacy,  could  have  been  chosen 
than  Manfred,  Prince  of  Taranto. 

The  great  procession  of  the  envoys  came  to  an  in- 
stantaneous halt  upon  discovering  the  approach  of  the 
king.  The  Duke  of  Altamura,  emerging  from  the  plumed 
throng,  advanced  up  the  passage  cleared  for  him  to  the 
place  where  a  dark  and  sinister-visaged  noble  seemed  to 
gaze  absently  on  the  glittering  pomp.  The  duke  took 
the  Count  of  Caserta  familiarly  by  the  arm,  and  with  him 
proceeded  toward  the  royal  dais.  The  duke  looked  pale, 
but  his  eyes  glittered  and  his  manner  was  so  hurriedly 
vivacious  that  it  formed  a  striking  contrast  to  the  austere 
demeanour  of  Caserta.    A  smile,  open  and  frank,  hovered 


I04  Caste  I  Del  A>onte 

on  Manfred's  lips  as  he  extended  his  hands  in  welcome 
and  greeting.  The  Duke  of  Altamura,  kneeling  on  the 
golden  cushion  placed  by  the  master  of  ceremonies  before 
the  throne,  paid  his  homage  to  his  sovereign.  The  duke 
performed  the  ceremonial  hastily,  while  heralds  enjoined 
silence  throughout  the  hall,  which  was  filled  with  constant 
buzzing  and  trampling.  A  hundred  ushers  in  glittering 
liveries  echoed  the  cry,  and  the  noise  ceased. 

After  having  offered  lik6  homage  to  Helena  of  Epirus, 
Manfred's  beautiful  queen,  who,  surrounded  by  her  ladies 
of  honour,  had  taken  her  station  upon  an  estrada  almost 
beside  her  husband,  the  duke  offered  thanks  for  the 
gracious  welcome. 

"  The  Ghibellines  of  Italy  assembled  within  the  hos- 
pitable gates  of  the  royal  city  join  me  in  the  sincere 
wishes  that  the  peace,  the  conclusion  of  which  they  jour- 
neyed hither  to  celebrate,  may  endure,  and  an  era  of 
prosperity  dawn  upon  the  kingdom  of  Sicily,  unbroken 
for  generations  to  come." 

Amidst  the  profound  silence  Manfred  replied,  not  with- 
out a  tinge  of  emotion  in  his  tones : 

"  Even  until  now,  Signor  Duca,  have  we  been  well 
content  with  your  services,  and  we  receive  with  much 
satisfaction  this  expression  of  your  good-will  toward  us, 
of  your  continued  loyalty  to  our  house.  The  throne  of 
Sicily  needs  not  additional  dominions  to  exalt  its  majesty, 
but  truly  for  princes  to  acknowledge  its  greatness  and  to 
sustain  it  in  the  respect  of  others,  we  ask  none  better  than 
yourself." 

The  Count  of  Caserta,  husband  to  the  king's  sister, 
Violanthe,  was  next  in  line  of  advance.  As  he  was  in 
the  act  of  bending  his  knees  in  homage,  Manfred  instantly 
raised  and  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks,  to  the  great  scandal 
of  Signor  Pedretti,  the  master  of  ceremonies. 


Count  XanOult  ot  Urent  105 

"Welcome,  thrice  welcome,  count,  from  the  jaws  of 
Scylla  and  Charybdis,"  the  king  said,  with  a  warmth 
under  which  even  the  stolid  countenance  of  Caserta 
seemed  to  melt.  Emotions  of  pride  and  sorrow  seemed 
to  struggle  for  the  mastery,  and  he  retreated  precipitately. 
Ottorino's  gaze  now  fell  upon  a  personage  whose 
features  and  bearing  at  once  attracted  his  attention.  The 
Duke  of  Alife,  high  chancellor  of  the  realm,  who  was 
now  addressing  the  king,  was  a  hunchback  about  fifty 
years  of  age.  From  beneath  a  black,  square  cap  there 
fell  upon  his  sunken  temples  two  locks  of  auburn  hair, 
tinged  slightly  with  gray.  A  thin  and  pale  face  ended 
in  a  sharp,  pointed  chin,  on  which,  whenever  the  chan- 
cellor spoke,  there  wagged  a  stiff  beard,  cut  short  after 
the  Spanish  fashion  and  of  the  same  colour  as  his  hair. 
Two  small  green  eyes  glared  from  beneath  scant  eye- 
brows, with  an  expression  which  was  hard  to  analyze. 
Their  gaze  seemed  always  to  avoid  the  person  addressed, 
only  to  be  stealthily  fixed  upon  him  unawares.  Cruelty 
and  craftiness  seemed  to  constitute  the  main  character- 
istics of  that  pale  face  with  its  pursed-up  mouth.  Like  an 
evil  gnome  the  chancellor  moved  between  the  towering 
statures  of  the  Apulian  barons,  and  Ottorino  uttered  an 
involuntary  sigh  of  relief  after  he  had  vanished  before 
the  approach  of  the  chief  Apulian  nobility.  One  by  one 
they  now  passed  the  royal  dais,  Giordano  and  Galvano 
Lancia,  Conrad  and  Marino  Capece,  Lords  of  Atropaldo ; 
Frederick,  Prince  of  Antioch,  stepbrother  of  Manfred; 
Drogo,  the  high  admiral ;  Count  Anselm  of  Cerra,  Grand 
Chamberlain;  Giordano  d'Anglone,  John  of  Procida, 
Conrad  Benincasa,  the  Counts  of  Falconara,  Aquino, 
Suessa,  San  Germano,  San  Severino,  Cantazarro,  Fasa- 
nella,  Mora,  and  the  protonotaries  of  the  kingdom,  An- 
selm of  Suzzara  and  Robert  of  Bari. 


io6  Castel  &el  /Donte 

In  vain  Ottorino's  searching  gaze  swept  the  hall  in 
quest  of  the  gaunt  figure  of  Landulf  of  Trent ;  the  Ger- 
man leader  was  remarked  by  his  absence,  but  the  Lom- 
bard was  roused  from  his  abstracted  reverie  by  the 
speech  of  Manfred,  addressed  to  the  Duke  of  Altamura, 
who  had  taken  his  station  to  the  right  of  the  royal  dais : 

"  And  who  is  yonder  knight  who  contents  himself 
with  the  sun  emanating  from  our  crown,  and  courts  not 
closer  approach  ? " 

Responding  to  a  silent  nod  from  the  duke,  Ottorino 
approached. 

"  Ottorino  of  the  ducal  house  of  Visconti,  Lords  of 
Milan  and  Imperial  Viceroys  of  Lombardy,"  he  said, 
while  going  through  the  prescribed  ceremony. 

"  Milan  and  the  Golden  Viper !  How  fares  our  kins- 
man Matteo  —  the  old  duke  ?  " 

"  He  sorely  regrets  that  his  old  enemy,  the  gout,  holds 
him  fast  within  the  circuit  of  his  castle,  thus  preventing 
him  from  paying  his  personal  devoir  to  the  prince  he 
holds  most  high  of  the  imperial  house  of  Suabia." 

"  None  more  welcome  in  Palermo  than  a  Visconti !  " 
Manfred  replied,  extending  his  hand. 

"  I  thank  the  king's  Majesty.  The  sword  and  lance  of 
the  house  of  Visconti  will  ever  be  at  the  command  of 
the  glorious  son  of  our  beloved  and  lamented  emperor." 
Then,  bowing  low,  the  Lombard  fell  back,  while  the  pro- 
cession slowly  passed  the  royal  dais,  Manfred  favouring 
each  envoy  with  a  gracious  smile,  which  failed  not  to 
produce  its  eflFect  even  upon  the  grim  and  war-worn 
countenance  of  the  representatives  of  Pisa,  Genoa,  and 
Venice. 

"An  imposing  spectacle,"  remarked  the  Duke  of 
Modica,  who  was  watching  it  with  keen  interest,  to  the 
Count  of  Caserta.     "  Are  the  ashes  of  the  old  Roman 


Count  Xan&ulf  of  Urent  107 

empire  to  be  rekindled  once  more,  and  is  the  vision  of 
Ben  Hussein  after  all  more  than  a  dream  ?  " 

The  Count  of  Caserta  smiled  disdainfully. 

"  To  be  a  Roman,"  he  said,  with  a  slight  tinge  of  con- 
tempt, "  it  was  an  honour  once  when  the  Coliseum  stood, 
ere  the  Gothic  fathers  of  Spain  beheld  it.  But  where  is 
Count  Landulf  of  Trent  ?  " 

"  His  thousand  lanzknechts  were  chiefly  the  cause  of 
the  broil  which  caused  the  duke  to  place  his  own  men 
upon  the  walls,"  interposed  the  Count  of  Chiaramonte. 

"  Say  you  so  ?  "  exclaimed  Modica,  with  strong  and 
evidently  unpleasant  surprise. 

"  The  Germans  are  proud,  and  their  nostrils  resent 
Saracenic  odours !  " 

Modica  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  'Tis  perchance  as  well !  I  trust  the  knave  not  over- 
much, though  the  king  swears  by  him.  Do  you  remember 
the  strange  words  he  uttered  in  the  camp  before  Andria  ?  " 

"  He  was  in  his  passion,  and  it  was  a  helmet  full  of  the 
thick  wine  of  that  country  that  spoke  out  of  the  thick- 
headed scullion,"  remarked  the  Duke  of  Gravina. 

"  And  the  Lords  Frangfipani  are  indeed  good  testimony, 
for  they  were  all  around  him  when  he  was  expounding 
the  rights  to  the  succession  in  Apulia  of  the  youth  Con- 
radino." 

"  It  were  a  step  most  ill-advised,"  Caserta  interposed, 
with  a  sinister  smile. 

"  The  Abbot  of  Constanz,  his  tutor,  will  initiate  the 
youth  in  the  history  of  his  house !  It  will  make  him  sad 
and  pensive ! " 

"  And  keep  his  iron  hosts  beyond  the  Adige  ?  " 

"  Who  knows  what  strange  temptations  may  befall !  " 

"  Temptations  for  the  living  —  peace  for  the  dead,"  a 
strange,  croaking  voice,  evil-boding  as  that  of  a  raven. 


io8  Castcl  bcl  /Dontc 

replied,  and  the  Apulians  faced  the  sneering  counte- 
nance of  John  of  Alife. 

"  Dead  ?  Who  is  dead  ?  "  several  exclaimed  at  once, 
staring  aghast  at  the  hunchback,  who  never  more  in  his 
life  than  at  this  moment  resembled  a  spirit  of  evil  evoked 
from  the  nether  world  for  the  perpetration  of  some 
deed  of  darkness. 

"  Conradino  has  passed  from  the  realms  of  the  living," 
the  chancellor  replied,  with  a  mock  bow  to  his  audience. 
"  A  special  envoy  brought  the  fateful  tidings.  Think  you 
the  king  can  be  consoled  ?  " 

John  of  Alife's  sneer  changed  to  an  expression  of  sur- 
prise as  his  gaze  fell  on  the  piazza  below. 

"  What  means  this  concourse  ?  Have  the  tidings  spread 
to  the  city  ?  " 

"  They  seem  to  be  Suabian  knights,  to  judge  by  their 
crests  and  long  spears." 

A  contingent  of  cavalry,  fully  armed  and  equipped, 
was  indeed  drawn  up  in  a  solid  square,  under  the  com- 
mand of  their  subaltern  officers,  but  the  leader  of  this 
select  and  much  desired  body  of  men  was  not  to  be 
seen.  Their  visors  were  raised;  their  countenances, 
stolid  and  immobile,  might  have  evinced  mourning  or 
discontentment. 

"Verily  —  whoever  glories  in  the  possession  of  these 
lances  will  rule  Italy !  "  remarked  the  Count  of  Modica, 
with  a  gesture  of  unfeigned  admiration  at  the  heavy,  iron- 
serried  ranks  of  the  Northmen.  , 

"  No  one  will  compel  their  obedience  and  no  one  will 
rule  the  descendants  of  the  people  who  led  captive  kings 
and  nations  chained  to  their  triumphal  chariots,"  replied 
the  Count  of  Chiaramonte. 

"  If  bombastic  speech  could  have  overthrown  the 
hordes  who  blew  out  the  light  of  the  Western  empire," 


Count  Xant)ult  ot  Urent  109 

Modica,  himself  of  Spanish  extraction,  replied  disdain- 
fully, "  you  Italians  would  be  lords  of  the  universe  to 
this  very  hour !  The  memory  of  your  great  deeds  is  not 
so  extinct  as  to  require  reviving  for  posterity." 

A  passionate  outburst  from  Chiaramonte  was  only 
averted  by  the  timely  interposition  of  Gravina,  who, 
ignoring  the  slur  of  the  Spaniard,  or  storing  it  up  for 
future  reckoning,  said: 

"  If  we  wish  to  keep  these  allies,  we  must  tax  to  their 
utmost  the  vineyards  of  old  Trinacria,  for  every  man  in 
this  squadron  drinks  for  six." 

Loud  words,  resounding  in  the  direction  of  the  royal 
dais,  caused  the  group  of  speakers  to  divert  their  atten- 
tion in  that  quarter,  and  their  surprise  was  too  manifest 
for  concealment  when  they  beheld  the  towering  form  of 
Landulf  of  Trent  addressing  Manfred  in  tones  concise 
and  determined. 

"  Our  duty  belongs  to  Elizabeth,  widow  of  Emperor 
Conrad.  Therefore  we  depart.  The  King  of  Sicily  is 
the  friend  of  the  Moslems.  They  will  protect  his  realms 
without  the  aid  of  his  German  knights." 

The  sudden  tidings  of  Conradino's  death  had  almost 
deprived  the  king  of  his  self-possession.  A  solution  more 
favourable  of  the  question  of  succession  not  even  the 
most  sanguine  would  have  dared  to  hope  for;  yet  the 
sorrow  for  the  untimely  demise  of  Emperor  Conrad's 
child  mixed  a  bitter  drop  in  the  cup  of  joy,  a  bitterness 
now  enhanced  by  the  open  defection  of  the  Suabian 
leader.  To  retain  him  and  his  knights  Manfred  en- 
deavoured to  temporize. 

"  Can  no  persuasion  of  ours  retain  you  in  our  service, 
Count  Landulf  ?  "  he  replied,  after  a  brief  pause.  "  We 
require  knights  brave  and  true.    Has  the  future  emperor 


iio  Castel  &el  HDonte 

more  to  offer  than  the  son  of  Frederick,  the  dead  em- 
peror whom  you  loved  so  well  ?  " 

The  Teuton  wavered.  The  memory  of  the  man  who, 
though  he  had  adopted  Italy  as  the  land  of  his  choice, 
had  never  lost  the  hearts  of  his  German  subjects,  exer- 
cised even  now  a  potent  spell  over  him.  Manfred  stood 
before  him,  the  reincarnation  of  Frederick  as  Count 
Landulf  had  known  him  when  he  followed  him  through 
Apulia  on  his  way  to  the  Holy  Land.  The  appeal  of 
the  emperor's  glorious  son  seemed  slowly  to  find  the  way 
to  his  heart,  then  he  caught  a  sudden  glimpse  of  the 
Saracen  Emir  Sidi  Yussuflf  in  the  suite  of  the  king. 

A  dark  frown  clouded  the  furrowed  brow  of  the 
Suabian  leader  as,  inclining  his  stupendous  form  toward 
the  Mahometan,  his  voice  rang  through  the  hall  with  a 
bluntness  he  endeavoured  not  to  subdue: 

"  We  like  not  your  infidel  hordes  as  brothers-in-arms, 
King  Manfred !  We  like  not  to  fight  side  by  side  with 
those  against  whom  your  imperial  ancestor  lost  crown 
and  life.  Let  the  king  surround  himself  with  Christian 
knights  that  offend  not  Holy  Church,  and  the  contingents 
of  Landulf  of  Trent  will  remain !  " 

Ominous  silence  followed  the  speech  of  the  Teuton, 
while  the  eyes  of  the  whole  assembly  rested  uneasily  on 
the  countenance  of  the  king,  who  stared  at  the  speaker 
in  a  manner  so  bewildered  that  it  seemed  as  if  he  refused 
to  accept  the  testimony  of  his  senses.  Then  the  old  spirit 
of  his  house  came  over  him,  the  spirit  of  Barbarossa  when 
he  humbled  Pope  Alexander  L,  the  spirit  of  his  father 
Frederick  when  he  hurled  defiance  into  the  teeth  of  Inno- 
cent IV.  His  whole  frame  seemed  to  expand ;  his  bosom 
heaved,  and  his  eyes  darted  lightning-bolts  of  wrath  on 
the  overbold,  who  had  dared  to  dictate  to  the  majesty  of 
Hohenstaufen. 


Count  Xan&ult  of  Utent  m 

"  This  is  too  insolent,  Count  Landulf !  "  he  exclaimed, 
"  and  since  you  but  came  to  mock  us  with  an  homage 
foreign  to  your  heart,  begone  from  our  presence  for  ever ) 
The  throne  of  Sicily  totters  not  without  your  spears ! 
Begone  ere  we  forget  that  clemency  should  mark  the 
hour,  and  chastise  the  insolent  vassal  according  to  his 
deserts !  We  crave  your  presence  in  the  Capella  Pala- 
tina,  my  lords  of  the  kingdom,  to  invoke  the  blessing  and 
guidance  of  the  supreme  power  in  the  portentous  hour 
that  is  to  cement  the  union  of  Italy !  " 

With  these  words  the  king  turned  his  back  upon  the 
assembly,  and,  retreating  toward  the  great  marble  stair- 
way, was  soon  lost  to  sight  amid  the  pompous  train  of 
courtiers  and  attendants  who  thronged  the  vast  corridors. 
The  gorgeous  court  dissolved  as  rapidly  as  the  coloured 
clouds  of  sunset  after  the  sun  has  disappeared. 

Landulf  of  Trent,  hardly  anticipating  such  a  reception 
of  his  speech,  had  slunk  back  among  the  Apulians, 
shunned  by  every  one  and  never  noting  the  significant 
glance  and  the  tart  smile  at^  his  discomfiture  which  the 
Duke  of  Altamura  exchanged  with  Sidi  Yussuff,  the 
emir.  With  crossed  legs  and  immobile  as  a  pagoda,  the 
Saracen  leader  was  poised  on  the  heavy  Persian  carpet, 
showing  but  by  the  light  of  his  eyes  that  he  was  a  thing 
living. 

The  High  Constable  was  one  of  the  last  to  quit  the  hall 
of  audience,  being  but  shortly  preceded  by  the  Count  of 
Trent,  whose  countenance  reflected  but  too  clearly  his 
consternation.  At  the  end  of  the  corridor  the  duke  es- 
sayed to  overtake  the  burly  Teuton,  touching  him  famil- 
iarly on  the  shoulder. 

Landulf  turned  upon  him  a  visage  so  fretful  and 
gloomy  that  the  duke  laughed  despite  of  himself. 

"By  St.  Andrew!     Thou  hast  the  most  vinegarlike 


"2  Castel  &el  flDontc 

aspect  that  ever  captain  or  courtier  wore!  Cheer  up, 
man!  All  is  not  lost!  Thou  hast  crossed  the  king  in 
his  very  pleasaunce,  'tis  true,  but  every  vintage  hath  its 
sour  grapes." 

The  German  scanned  the  face  of  the  duke,  uncertain 
whether  to  resent  his  familiarity  or  to  feel  flattered. 

"  Methinks  it  had  been  to  my  advantage  if  neither  fear 
nor  hope  had  ever  brought  me  to  these  volcanic  regions," 
he  then  replied,  with  a  grunt. 

"  Our  volcanoes  have  strange  humours,  choosing  the 
most  tranquil  night  for  their  manifestations.  But  how 
dismally  thou  starest,  as  if  the  fear  of  intended  punish- 
ment made  thy  limbs  quake!  And  yet  thou  couldst  in 
very  truth  be  a  great  man  in  the  kingdom  and  command 
an  army,  if  thou  couldst  but  swallow  some  of  thy  scruples ! 
Must  thou  foam  like  an  epileptic,  when  thy  chaste  glance 
falls  upon  a  Moslem?  Tut,  man,  Emperor  Frederick 
was  a  Christian,  too,  yet  he  had  a  seraglio  in  every  hamlet 
in  Apulia." 

"  I  meant  the  king  no  offence,"  Landulf  of  Trent  re- 
plied, "  though  he  seems  to  be  one  of  those  pragmatic 
lords  who  must  have  the  whole  tree,  or  he  will  not  a 
cherry  of  it.  I  desire  nothing  now  but  to  leave  the  island, 
and  will  scarcely  bide  till  the  day's  clamour  is  over !  " 

"  Festina  lente  —  haste  slowly,  as  the  old  Romans 
said !  The  king  is  justly  provoked ;  besides,  these  sudden 
tidings  have  spread  infinite  distrust.  Ponder  well,  count ! 
Thou  canst  not  bring  back  to  life  the  youth  Conradino, 
and  the  wild  birds  starve  not  more  in  this  country  than 
in  thy  sombre  forests.  The  king  can  be  reconciled  —  he  is 
not  implacable.  Remain  thou  here!  At  best  thou  canst 
overtake  thy  lances  ere  they  reach  the  northern  passes !  " 

And,  with  a  meaning  nod,  the  duke  parted  from  the 
German,  leaving  him  to  ponder  over  his  strange  speech. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   MYSTERIOUS   FERRYMAN 

Ottorino  had  been  a  close  witness  to  the  scene  between 
Manfred  and  the  Count  of  Trent,  for  the  king  had  re- 
tained him  by  his  side,  engaging  him  in  occasional  con- 
versation. But  after  the  masses  left  the  Sala  Regia, 
instead  of  joining  the  royal  procession  on  its  way  to 
the  Capella  Palatina,  Ottorino  hastened  out  and  lost  him- 
self in  the  throngs  crowding  the  piazza.  He  wandered 
restlessly  about  the  great  city,  with  no  thought  but  for 
the  impending  interview  which  was  to  pave  the  way  for 
future  appointments,  and  revolving  in  his  mind  the 
strange  mysteries,  at  which  Helena  di  Miraval  had  darkly 
hinted.  In  vain  he  strove  to  take  an  interest  in  what 
he  beheld.  He  was  rather  distracted  than  amused  by  the 
babel-like  confusion  of  nations,  languages,  and  costumes 
which  surrounded  him  on  every  side. 

The  sun  was  sinking  into  the  Tyrrhenian  Sea  when 
the  Lombard  found  himself  before  the  convent  gates  of 
Santa  Lucia.  It  was  the  hour  of  vespers;  the  chapel 
was  filled  with  a  silent  crowd,  absorbed  in  their  devo- 
tions. The  only  light  came  from  the  evening  sun,  dusk- 
ily illuminating  the  emblazoned  windows,  or  from  the 
faint  glimmer  of  distant  shrines.  Ottorino  took  his  sta- 
tion in  the  background  of  the  chapel,  thus  having  op- 
portunity for  observing  any  one  entering  or  leaving  the 

"3 


"4  Castel  &el  /IDonte 

sanctuary.  The  chant  of  "  Regina  CceH,"  rising  like 
angels'  voices  on  clouds  of  incense,  shed  its  calm  for  a 
moment  even  into  Ottorino's  perturbed  and  wildly  beat- 
ing heart.  But  ever  and  ever  his  thoughts  reverted  to 
the  purpose  of  his  presence,  and  when,  after  the  last 
Gloria,  the  worshippers,  one  by  one,  slowly  left  the  chapel, 
he  scrutinized  so  closely  their  departing  forms,  that 
some  devoutly  crossed  themselves,  believing  the  dark 
knight  bent  on  purposes  little  in  keeping  with  the  sanc- 
tity of  the  spot.  While  anxiously  awaiting  the  moment 
when  the  deserted  chapel  would  offer  to  the  lady  of  Mira- 
val  the  opportunity  to  approach  him,  the  gates  of  the  con- 
fessional suddenly  swung  open,  and  a  woman  glided  out. 
She  was  closely  veiled,  and  in  his  absorption  of  mind 
Ottorino  might  have  scarcely  noticed  her  had  not  the 
lady  paused  with  a  gesture  of  surprise  when  she  beheld 
the  Lombard's  dark,  towering  form.  Then  she  quickened 
her  steps  and  hastened  out. 

Ottorino  stared  after  her  departing  form,  as  one  turned 
to  stone. 

It  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  cold  chill  of  death  had 
touched  his  limbs,  and  his  face,  in  its  livid  pallor  and  its 
stony  gaze,  resembled  rather  that  of  a  spectre  than  a 
creature  in  the  flesh.  Even  his  heart-beats  seemed  to  stop 
as  he  gazed  at  the  vanishing  apparition,  —  the  form  of 
Helena  di  Miraval,  which  he  would  have  recognized 
among  thousands.  How  long  he  stood  so  he  knew  not,  nor 
did  he  heed  the  curious  gaze  of  a  few  belated  worship- 
pers, who  had  been  lingering  in  the  chapel.  At  last, 
however,  shaking  with  an  almost  supernatural  effort  the 
stupor  from  his  benumbed  limbs,  the  Lombard  flew  after 
the  vanishing  apparition.  He  went  with  such  a  speed  as 
to  almost  knock  down  those  who  encountered  him  in  his 
headlong  pursuit  of  the  fair  confessionist  in  her  precipi- 


Ube  /Cpsterious  jferrpman  "S 

tate  exit.  It  was  now  a  matter  of  life  and  death  with  him, 
to  satisfy  the  dreadful  doubts  which  had  suddenly  arisen 
within  him.  But  having  attracted  to  himself  much  un- 
welcome attention  by  his  rash  and  unpremeditated  act, 
Ottorino  fell  into  a  slower  pace.  Suddenly  the  retreat- 
ing form  vanished  as  if  the  earth  had  swallowed  her, 
and  the  Lombard  found  himself  alone  in  the  vaulted  arch- 
ways of  the  cloisters. 

He  paused,  stroking  his  clammy  forehead  as  if  to  con- 
vince himself  that  he  was  not  dreaming.  Why  had  she 
shrunk  from  his  approach?  Why  this  precipitate  flight 
—  this  startled  look  ?  Was  it  true,  despite  her  dis- 
avowal, despite  the  protestations  of  her  innocence,  what 
people  did  not  even  trouble  themselves  to  whisper  ?  Were 
they  true,  those  strange,  monstrous  tales?  A  groan,  as 
from  an  animal  wounded  to  death,  broke  from  his  lips, 
while  he  pressed  his  ice-cold  hands  to  his  burning  temples. 
All  the  riches  of  Lombardy,  his  station  and  wealth,  Otto- 
rino would  at  this  moment  have  gladly  sacrificed  for  the 
certainty  that  it  was  not  Helena  di  Miraval  whom  he 
had  beheld.  In  a  mood  so  abstracted,  with  pale  face 
and  lips  tightly  set,  with  the  anguish  of  his  soul  re- 
flected in  his  eyes,  he  approached  the  gates  of  the  clois- 
ters. So  wild  was  his  appearance  that  those  who  passed 
him  whispered  to  each  other,  with  a  shy  glance  at  his 
tall  and  gloomy  form,  that  his  sins  must  indeed  weigh 
heavily  upon  him. 

For  a  moment  the  Lombard  stood  irresolute.  Then, 
having  accosted  some  wandering  friar  and  ascertained 
from  him  the  direction  of  the  Dominican's  habitation, 
Ottorino  reverted  to  his  former  intent  of  obtaining  light 
and  truth  at  any  cost.  The  frate  indicated  a  narrow 
lane,  which  descended  to  the  Oreto  in  a  precipitous  slope. 


"6  Castcl  &el  flDonte 

Ottorino  followed  this,  and  soon  arrived  at  the  landing- 
place,  where  he  gave  the  usual  whistle. 

After  waiting  for  considerable  time,  only  one  little  boat 
appeared.  The  owner  seemed  to  be  asleep  in  despair  of 
custom,  for  it  was  not  until  Ottorino  had  repeated  the 
whistle  more  shrilly  that  the  boatman  set  his  oars  in 
motion  and  came  slowly  over  the  water. 

It  was  a  barge  of  the  model  that  might  have  been  in 
vogue  when  the  first  Greek  settlers  came  from  the  Pelo- 
ponnesus. A  spar  of  some  supple  wood,  nearly  double 
the  length  of  the  boat,  lay  across  a  little  mast,  with  its 
canvas  ready  to  be  spread  for  shelter,  or  to  catch  any 
favouring  breeze.  The  prow  was  high  and  curved,  and 
ornamented  with  rude  carvings ;  the  rudder  broad,  the 
oars  of  classical  squatness.  The  old  man  himself  who 
rowed  it  seemed  dried  and  hardened  by  exposure  and 
toil  into  some  kind  of  wood,  though  the  expression  of 
gloom  and  discontent  on  his  visage  belonged  too  much 
to  the  flesh. 

Ottorino  stepped  into  the  barge  without  exchanging  as 
much  as  a  word  with  his  equally  laconic  Charon,  until, 
having  taken  his  place  at  the  rudder,  he  designated  the 
point  where  he  wanted  the  boatman  to  land  him.  The 
latter  immediately  splashed  in  his  oars,  and  they  were 
fairly  out  on  the  bay  ere  the  Lombard  observed  that 
there  was  a  third  person  in  the  boat,  garbed  in  the  cos- 
tume of  a  peasant  of  the  marshes. 

"  What  doest  thou  here,  fellow  ?  This  boat  is  mine 
for  this  trip,"  said  Ottorino,  not  without  a  start  of  un- 
pleasant surprise. 

The  peasant  replied  in  a  rude  and  broken  dialect  that 
he  craved  his  Lordship's  pardon,  but  that  his  own  errand 
brooked  no  delay,  and  implored  to  be  allowed  to  accom- 
pany him. 


XCbe  flDs8terfott0  ferryman  "7 

Ottorino  hesitated  for  an  instant,  but,  considering  the 
determined  manner  of  the  ruffian,  which  gfave  the  humiHty 
in  his  phrase  a  tinge  of  mockery,  the  doubtful  nature  of 
his  own  suspicions,  and  the  boatman's  appearance,  he  re- 
frained from  his  first  intention,  which  was  to  throw  the 
third  incumbent  overboard. 

"  If  thou  art  indeed  in  such  marvellous  haste  that 
thou  forgettest  even  to  pay  for  thy  passage,"  he  said, 
at  last,  hitting  upon  an  ingenious  plan  to  obviate  any 
sudden  danger  from  the  lurking  right  hand  of  the 
peasant,  "  take  a  pair  of  oars  and  help  the  old  man  on, 
or  I  tell  thee  plainly  one  of  us  two  must  leave  the  wood 
for  the  water." 

A  slight  shuffling  of  the  hand  in  the  cloak  seemed  to 
indicate  that  the  Lombard's  suspicions  were  not  entirely 
unfounded.  At  any  rate,  the  sheathing  of  a  weapon  would 
have  produced  a  similar  sound.  But  the  man  obeyed 
without  seeming  hesitation,  and  thus  reinforced  the  boat 
shot  rapidly  down  the  stream. 

The  Visconti's  observation  never  in  reality  wandered 
from  the  persons  of  his  rowers,  but  he  affected  to  survey 
the  shores  on  both  sides  with  the  natural  curiosity  of  a 
stranger. 

On  one  side  reposed  the  ancient  city  said  to  have  been 
founded  by  the  Phoenicians,  on  the  other  extended  fra- 
grant and  exotic  Moorish  gardens,  with  their  solitary, 
dreaming  palaces.  The  moon,  shining  in  a  sky  of  silvery 
blue,  revealed  the  distant  magnificence  of  La  Zisa,  and 
gleamed  brightly  on  the  gilded  cupolas  of  La  Cufa. 
Through  the  mellow,  starlit  air  came  the  melodious 
chords  of  the  evening  chimes  from  the  belfry  of  San 
Giovanni  degli  Eremiti. 

From  the  near-by  convent  of  Santa  Onofria  rose  the 
chant  of  the  nuns,  "Ave  Maria  Stella."    It  seemed  to 


"8  Castel  ^el  Itbontc 

be  borne  aloft  on  the  wings  of  the  balmy  night-wind  to 
the  spheres,  where  all  the  stormy  longings  of  this  earth 
have  been  stilled. 

By  degrees  the  shores  widened  into  the  elbow-like  bend 
of  the  Oreto  below  the  slopes  of  Monte  Pellegrino,  and 
the  ancient  monastery  of  the  Dominicans  came  into  sight. 
Beyond  it  the  river  took  another  deep  curve,  bathing  the 
base  of  the  mountain.  Even  from  this  point  of  observa- 
tion colossal  relics  of  ancient  grandeur,  shattered  walls, 
naked  porticoes,  wildernesses  of  broken  arches  and  soli- 
tary columns,  could  be  discerned  amid  woods  and  wild 
vegetation. 

The  peasant,  busy  at  the  oars,  did  little  to  excite  fur- 
ther suspicion,  and  both  he  and  the  old  boatman  plied 
their  task  manfully,  until  suddenly,  opposite  the  mouth 
of  the  Oreto,  they  dropped  their  oars  as  by  a  preconcerted 
signal,  and  began  to  mutter  a  Pater  Noster. 

In  spite  of  this  pious  exordium,  the  knight's  suspicions 
would  have  vented  themselves  in  some  positive  form  but 
for  his  observation  that  the  boatman  and  the  seeming 
peasant  both  stopped  short  and  looked  at  each  other  with 
surprise. 

"  Hast  thou  a  vow  to  Santa  Lucia  too,  brother?  "  said 
the  old  boatman,  speaking  almost  for  the  first  time  since 
he  had  taken  his  passengers  on  board. 

"  Na'y,  friend,  but  about  here,  they  say,  is  the  great 
mouth  of  the  city's  sinks,  down  which  so  many  dead 
Christians  hourly  float,  and  it  might  be  well  to  pray  for 
the  souls  of  any  that  might  now  be  coming,"  replied  the 
disguised  bravo. 

"  And  here  began  my  ill  luck,  for  ever  since  that  night, 
when  I  saw  the  body  of  a  young  cavalier  thrown  into  the 
river  yonder,  I  have  been  shunned  like  the  very  pesti- 
lence by  all  but  strangers  whom  Santa  Lucia  occasionally 


Ube  /IDiPsterious  jferrpman  "9 

sends  to  keep  me  from  dying  of  starvation,"  said  the  old 
boatman,  dismally. 

"Art  thou  quite  sure  thou  sawest  that,  old  man?  I 
know  some  one  who  would  repay  such  intelligence  as 
might  guide  his  vengeance  with  gold  untold,"  returned 
the  peasant,  while  he  drew  himself  with  a  sudden  slide 
toward  the  old  man,  gazing  at  him  fixedly  and  putting 
his  hand  under  his  cloak.  But  ere  the  deed  could  follow 
the  gesture,  Ottorino  sprang  forward,  and  with  a  sudden 
exertion  of  his  great  strength  hurled  the  bravo  over- 
board. 

"  Signor,  would  you  murder  the  man  ?  "  exclaimed  the 
boatman,  staring  aghast. 

"  If  he  be  what  he  pretends,  he  will  keep  himself  above 
water  —  if  not,  there  are  better  than  he  below.  But  is 
this  stiletto  thine,  old  man  ?  " 

The  boatman  crossed  himself,  moving  away  from  the 
object  in  question  as  if  it  had  been  a  serpent. 

"  Oh,  Santa  Lucia,  no,"  he  exclaimed,  "  but  I  think 
I  have  seen  just  such  a  one  dangling  from  the  belt  of 
one  Passerino,  who  is  a  follower  of  great  Ghino  di  Tacco 
across  the  sea." 

"  Would,  then,  I  had  a  bow,  for  yonder  his  head  is 
emerging  from  the  water.  He  is  making  for  the  reeds 
in  the  island.  But  thou  art  feeble.  I  will  myself  tug  at 
the  oar." 

The  old  ferryman  shook  his  head. 

"  Everything  has  gone  wrong  with  me  since  that  night. 
I  was  not  always  so  gloomy  and  wretched." 

"  But  tell  me  thy  story.    How  chanced  it?  " 

"  Ah !  It  was  some  such  night  as  this,  but  it  was 
on  a  Friday  and  near  midnight.  I  had  unloaded  some 
fruits  on  the  shore  yonder,  near  the  Moorish  quarters, 
and  was  resting  in  my  boat,  when  I  saw  coming  out  of 


120  Castel  ^el  /IDonte 

that  lane  to  the  lefi-  of  the  convent  two  masked  men,  who 
by  their  skulking,  uncertain  manner  of  going  forward 
and  backward  showed  that  they  were  only  there  to  as- 
certain if  there  was  anybody  else  about." 

"  Hast  thou  no  recollection  of  their  appearance  ?  **  in- 
terrupted the  knight,  eagerly. 

"  By  our  Lady,  one  was  very  much  like  yonder  rogue 
whom  I  hope  your  Lordship  has  sunk;  the  other,  by 
his  stiff  gait,  might  have  been  a  Spaniard." 

"  A  Spaniard ! "  Ottorino  repeated,  almost  involun- 
tarily, but  the  boatman  continued : 

"  Having  explored  in  every  direction  and  seeing  not 
a  living  soul,  for  I  lay  motionless  and  invisible  beneath 
the  sail,  not  daring  to  move,  —  and  would  to  all  the  saints 
I  had  been  asleep!  —  they  returned  up  the  same  lane. 
Shortly  after  two  others  came  out,  repeated  the  same 
manoeuvre,  and  then  —  out  of  the  lane  came  a  masked 
cavalier  on  a  coal-black  charger,  dressed  in  black,  to  the 
black  feather  drooping  from  his  Spanish  hat,  and  he  car- 
ried —  our  Lady  have  mercy  upon  us  —  across  his  saddle, 
head  and  arms  on  one  side,  feet  on  the  other,  the  body 
of  a  dead  man.  These  three  slowly  approached  the 
water's  edge,  the  two  companions  of  the  horseman 
seized  the  dead  carcass,  one  by  the  arms,  the  other  by 
the  legs,  and,  after  swinging  it  to  and  fro,  they  tossed 
it  headlong  into  the  water.  The  dark  horseman  turned 
his  head  away  during  this  act,  as  if  shunning  the  horror 
of  the  sight,  but  after  he  heard  the  splash  in  the  water  he 
whirled  his  horse  around  and  turned  his  face  to  the 
river." 

"  And  his  face  —  dost  thou  remember  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  already  told  your  Lordship  he  wore  a  mask, 
besides,  I  dared  not  look  on  him,  for  fear  his  eyes,  that 
gleamed  like  coals,  should  meet  mine.     There  is  some- 


Ube  jflDijstertous  jferri^man  121 

thing  strange  about  eyes.  Men  always  feel  when  they 
are  looked  at.  But  the  corpse  floated  on  the  water  and 
would  not  sink.  Then  the  two  on  foot  threw  heavy 
stones  upon  it,  and  one  striking  it  made  it  go  to  the 
bottom.  And  barely  had  the  last  bubble  disappeared 
when  a  girl  came  shrieking  down  the  narrow  lane,  and 
two  old  women  with  dishevelled  hair  after  her.  But  what 
they  had  to  do  with  the  matter  I  know  not,  only  this,  that 
the  masked  rider  galloped  up  to  her  and  seized  her  by 
her  long  black  hair.  She  swooned,  and  the  women  carried 
her  off,  while  the  men  turned  up  another  lane  and  disap- 
peared. But  why  I  should  be  shunned  like  the  plague 
for  that,  our  Lady  alone  may  know." 

"  But  the  girl  —  what  was  she  like  ?  "  exclaimed  Otto- 
rino,  with  such  sudden  anxiety  that  the  boatman  eyed  him 
suspiciously. 

"How  do  I  know?"  the  old  man  replied,  gruffly.  "I 
suppose  she  was  a  girl  like  any  other  girl." 

"  Didst  thou  not  even  see  the  colour  of  her  hair  ? " 
said  the  Lombard,  with  forced  calmness.  "  I  am  not 
asking  this  question  to  amuse  myself,  but  there  is  a  deep 
reason  for  it." 

"  Her  hair  was  black,  I  thought  I  told  you  so,  —  black 
as  night,  and  on  it  I  noticed  a  string  of  coins,  such  as 
the  Moorish  women  wear  for  adornment  —  they  glittered 
in  the  moonlight,"  the  boatman  replied,  wearily. 

"  But  why  didst  thou  not  impart  thy  knowledge  to  the 
governor  of  the  city,  to  gain  some  clue  to  the  assassins  ?  " 

"  The  saints  reward  your  Lordship,"  returned  the  boat- 
man, with  a  grim  smile,  "  Since  I  have  earned  my  living 
on  the  Oreto  I  have  seen  dead  bodies  pass  into  the  water 
in  like  manner  at  least  a  hundred  times,  and  no  one  asked 
any  questions,  either.  So,  thinking  this  would  pass  like 
the  rest,  I  minded  my  own  business  until  I  heard  that 


laa  Castel  &el  /©onte 

he  who  was  lost  in  that  night  was  Enrico,  the  younger 
brother  of  the  king.  And  a  high-born  lady's  name  was 
darkly  connected  with  the  deed.  So  I  thought  I  should 
make  a  good  day's  work  by  carrying  the  news  to  the 
king." 

The  boatman  paused  and  sighed. 

"  And  for  five  apostonari  I  ruined  myself,  for  that  was 
what  the  duke  gave  me,  adding  it  was  too  much  for 
a  drunkard's  dream." 

"  The  duke  ?  "  reechoed  Ottorino.  "  Didst  thou  not 
say  that  thou  tookest  thine  information  to  the  king  ?  " 

"Ay;  but  I  advanced  no  further  than  the  duke's 
chamber,  he  who  is  now  high  constable.  Could  I  have 
given  him  a  clue  to  the  assassin,  I  might  indeed  have 
made  my  fortune,  for  the  lady  Helena,  his  kinswoman, 
was  almost  mad  with  grief,  and  he,  too,  seemed  much 
affected.  'Tis  hard,  indeed,  that  one's  conscience  should 
cheat  one  out  of  the  daily  bread.  And  yet  perhaps  it  was 
best  it  chanced  thus.  For  if  the  real  assassins,  whoever 
they  were,  would  have  thought  that  I  could  betray  them, 
they  would  have  cut  my  throat  ere  I  could  get  the  words 
well  out  of  it,  and  who  knows  who  was  in  the  secret? 
But  yonder  are  the  wilds  of  the  Pellegrino,  and  I  trust 
your  Lordship  will  remember  I  have  but  so  many  pas- 
sengers as  the  blessed  saints  send  me  in  defiance  of  my 
evil  fortune." 

"  And  in  addition  to  good  pay,  old  father,  I  will  give 
thee  a  good  counsel,"  said  the  Lombard,  with  a  heavy 
sigh.  "  Do  not  tell  thy  tale  to  too  many  passengers,  even 
strangers  like  myself,  for  thou  mayest  not  always  find 
such  honest  listeners.  Nay,  perchance  thou  mayest  meet 
with  some  one  who,  like  yon  honest  peasant  whom  we  left 
in  the  water,  may  have  reasons  of  their  own  to  stop  thy 
tongue  close  to  thy  throat !  " 


XLhc  /Di^Bterious  f  crri^man  123 

After  having  remunerated  the  boatman  much  beyond 
the  latter's  expectation,  Ottorino  left  the  barge,  ponder- 
ing over  the  strange  tale  which  his  mysterious  Charon 
had  poured  into  his  ear. 

Then,  with  a  fierce  determination  to  learn  the  truth  at 
all  hazards,  he  began  the  rather  steep  ascent  on  the  oppo- 
site side. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE  RECLUSE  OF   MONTE  PELLEGRINO 

Taking  the  road  indicated  by  the  friar,  Ottorino  pur- 
sued his  solitary  path.  What  his  own  purpose  was  he 
could  at  this  stage  scarcely  have  said.  His  feelings  and 
motives  were  by  this  time  so  hopelessly  perplexed  that 
he  could  not  determine  which  prompting  to  follow,  and 
so  lost  was  he  in  thought  that  without  even  noticing  the 
ruined  arches  scattered  along  his  way,  and  pervaded  by 
a  silence,  a  desolation  so  deep  and  complete,  that  the  hush 
was  intensified  rather  than  broken  by  the  distant  hum 
of  the  city,  he  lost  himself  in  the  wilds  which  stretched 
along  the  base  of  Monte  Pellegrino.  Once  these  wilds 
had  been  covered  with  gorgeous  and  majestic  palaces, 
now  there  were  only  a  few  shepherds'  huts  and  the  ruins 
of  the  Carthaginian  period. 

Gradually  all  traces  of  a  road  vanished,  and  on  both 
sides  rose  woody  acclivities,  covered  with  ruins  and 
melancholy  cypresses.  The  only  guide  whom  Ottorino 
could  now  follow  was  the  Oreto,  whose  waters,  as  the 
friar  had  informed  him,  flowed  very  near  the  ruins  of 
which  he  was  in  search. 

And  this  guide  indeed  proved  more  faithful  than  the 
majority  of  that  gentry  in  the  Lombard's  days,  for,  after 
murmuring  through  a  deep  wood,  the  underbrush  of 
which  consisted  chiefly  of  wild  roses  in  full  bloom,  it 

124 


XCbe  IRecluse  ot  /iDonte  ipellegrfno      "s 

conducted  him  into  a  verdant  desert,  over  the  midst  of 
which  the  baths  of  Roger  the  Second  were  scattered. 
For  a  few  moments  the  Visconti  stood  gazing  at  the  im- 
mense desolation,  the  wilderness  of  shattered  arches, 
lonely  columns,  ivy-covered  porticoes,  fallen  walls,  and 
jagged  round  towers.  The  hopelessness  of  finding  among 
these  unknown  masses  the  Dominican's  hermitage  im- 
pressed itself  upon  him.  Pausing  irresolutely,  he  would 
probably  have  returned  but  that  he  chanced  to  perceive 
a  figure  advancing  out  of  the  ruins,  apparently  bound  for 
the  city.  Hoping  that  it  might  either  prove  some  fol- 
lower of  the  monk,  or  some  peasant  acquainted  with  the 
locality,  he  hastily  advanced  toward  the  unknown,  who 
came  on  muttering  and  crossing  himself,  as  if  pronounc- 
ing a  spell  against  evil  spirits.  So  absorbed  was  he  in 
his  occupation  that  he  perceived  not  the  knight  until  the 
latter  stood  directly  in  front  of  him. 

This  sudden  apparition  excited  such  a  terror  in  the 
beholder  that  the  monk,  for  such  he  was,  uttered  a  terrific 
yell,  and  would  have  fled  had  not  Ottorino,  anticipating 
his  intention,  held  him  fast  by  his  cassock. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  five  wounds  —  who  art  thou  ?  " 
gasped  the  friar,  after  staring  stonily  at  the  knight  for  a 
moment  or  two. 

"  It  matters  little  to  thy  purpose  or  mine  either,  father," 
replied  the  Lombard.  "  Lead  me  to  the  presence  of  Fra 
Domenico  —  my  business  is  with  him." 

The  friar  stood  quaking  and  gazing  at  the  stranger 
with  undiminished  awe  and  suspicion,  not  daring  either 
to  take  flight  or  to  remain,  and  it  was  some  moments 
before  he  could  be  induced  by  the  protestations,  mingled 
with  threats,  of  Ottorino  to  guide  him  to  the  Domin- 
ican's cell. 

"  Santa  Maria,  Ora  pro  nobis  1 "  muttered  the  friar, 


126  Castel  &el  flDontc 

while  he  led  the  way  with  many  a  shuddering  side  glance, 
being  in  great  doubt  as  to  whether  or  not  his  nocturnal 
companion  did  not  intend  to  stab  him  from  behind.  The 
way  led  through  the  central  masses  of  the  ruins,  and 
beneath  innumerable  shattered  arches.  Viewing  the  in- 
terminable alleys  of  pillars  and  colonnades  and  dark 
chambers  extending  on  either  side,  it  seemed  to  the  Lx>m- 
bard  as  if  time  alone  could  not  have  wrought  that  prodi- 
gious destruction,  but  that  an  earthquake  or  some  other 
elementary  power  must  have  assisted. 

Once  or  twice  they  startled  a  sleeping  goat  in  the  aisles 
of  the  ruins,  and  at  the  sight  of  its  horns  the  friar  mut- 
tered unnumbered  Aves,  as  if  he  momentarily  expected 
to  behold  the  evil  one  rise  from  the  underbrush.  At 
times  an  owl  shot  with  a  wild  hoot  over  the  monk's  torch ; 
with  these  exceptions  they  encountered  no  living  object 
to  break  the  hush  of  the  sepulchral  desolation. 

At  length  the  frate  turned  to  the  right  beneath  the  re- 
mains of  a  triumphal  portico,  on  each  side  of  which  stood 
the  headless  marble  trunks  of  Demeter  and  Proserpina. 
Thence  he  entered  into  a  wilderness  of  grottoes,  the 
broad  corridors  of  which  were  at  times  almost  choked 
with  odoriferous  shrubs  and  wild  flowers,  pouring  out 
their  sweetness  on  the  desert  air  without  stint  or  measure. 
At  last  he  paused  before  what  might  have  been  at  one 
time  an  entrance  to  the  Moorish  baths,  judging  from  the 
remains  of  the  magnificent  columns  bearing  Kufic  in- 
scriptions; then  he  ascended  a  flight  of  grass-grown 
steps  and  entered  a  series  of  desolate  chambers,  which, 
although  roofless  and  choked  with  rank  vegetation,  still 
bore  traces  of  their  ancient  splendour.  These  chambers 
led  to  a  clumsy  door,  which,  being  hastily  pushed  open 
by  the  friar,  admitted  his  companion  to  this  most  singular 
hermitage  for  philosopher  or  monk. 


Zbc  IRecluse  of  /IDonte  ipellegrino     127 

High,  oval-shaped  apertures  admitted  Hght  and  air 
together,  and  with  the  aid  of  the  friar's  torch  and  the 
glowing  embers  of  a  dying  fire  revealed  a  large  chamber 
strewn  with  curious  and  cabalistical  instruments.  Paus- 
ing almost  breathless  at  the  entrance  of  the  cell,  the 
Lombard  noted  not  the  sudden  disappearance  of  Fra 
Cyrillo.  His  gaze  was  riveted  upon  the  Dominican, 
who,  evidently  anticipating  no  visitors,  was  seated  at  a 
massive  stone  table,  which  was  covered  with  open  vol- 
umes of  ponderous  manuscript,  nearly  all  written  in  the 
languages  of  the  East.  In  addition  thereto  he  was  perus- 
ing a  huge  parchment,  which  was  quaintly  illuminated 
and  headed  in  large  characters,  "  De  Praedestinatione." 

For  some  moments  the  monk,  as  if  overcome  by  ex- 
haustion, reclined  in  his  chair  wrapped  in  deep  medita- 
tion. 

"  This,  then,  was  the  thesis,"  he  mused,  half-aloud, 
after  the  manner  of  solitary  thinkers.  "  Pradestinatio  est 
necessitas.  Fate  is  inevitable,  and  yet  —  God  is  just. 
These  are  the  terms:  St.  Augustine  hath  said  it,  and  is 
it  a  demon  or  angel  in  thy  soul  that  would  have  thee 
believe  it?  And  do  they  hang  on  my  lips  for  the  echoes 
of  heavenly  oracles  —  echoes  only  of  the  dreams  of  men, 
when  in  every  human  heart  that  beats  —  no,  no !  Let 
us  not  look  into  the  heart!  It  is  not  there  —  but  where 
is  it?  In  these  musty  parchments?  In  the  sweet,  silent 
air  of  night,  —  up  there,  whence  the  cold  stars  sparkle 
down  upon  us,  cold  to  our  sufferings  —  our  misery  ? 
Apage  Satanas !  What  have  I  to  do  with  love — with  bliss 
—  with  beauty?  Satan,  I  spit  at  thee!  But  if  it  was 
eternally  thus,  if  we  are  eternally  damned,  or  eternally 
saved,  why  make  this  short  pause  of  existence  a  part  of 
that  hell  which  is  to  come,  while  it  might  at  least  have 
been  one  short  glimpse  of  paradise,  of  heaven?    Is  then 


laS  Castel  t>cl  /ftonte 

love  a  crime?  Wert  thou  not  first  a  man  ere  thou  be- 
camest  a  monk?  And  must  thou  sit  on  a  frozen  emi- 
nence and  behold  mankind  rejoicing  in  the  warm  valleys 
beneath?  Must  thou  see  the  portals  of  paradise  open 
to  countless  myriads,  but  to  read,  glaring  from  the  tab- 
lets of  judgment,  the  decree  of  fate :  '  Not  for  thee  — 
not  for  thee ! '  Thou  alone  shalt  hunger  for  a  word  of 
love  —  thou  alone  shalt  starve  for  a  caress  —  thou  alone 
shalt  despair  of  happiness!  Could  I  but  once,  once  call 
it  mine,  but  for  one  single  moment,  swift  as  thought, 
could  I  but  once  drain  the  glittering,  deceptive  goblet 
to  its  very  dregs  —  wretch  !  What  is  the  fiend  whisper- 
ing to  thee  ?    And  yet,  what  is  man  —  mere  man  ?  " 

He  paused,  and  the  perfect  stillness  of  the  wastes  of 
the  Pellegrino  permitted  some  breathing  of  remote  music 
to  reach  the  Dominican's  ear.  After  listening  for  a  mo- 
ment he  arose  and  traversed  his  cell  at  a  rapid  pace, 

"  They  are  around  her  now  —  they  gaze  upon  her 
with  their  gloating  eyes  —  what  is  it  to  thee,  Fra  Domen- 
ico?  What  is  it  to  thee?  Who  knows  the  pangs  of 
misery  that  clutch  thy  heart  under  the  cowl  ?  Who  knows 
the  anguish  of  thy  soul  under  the  mask  of  thy  livid  face  ? 
When  the  gaze  seems  stony  and  passionless,  who  knows 
of  the  snow-capped  volcano  with  a  burning  hell  within? 
Measureless  sacrifice,  imposed  by  Heaven  itself!  Ah, 
let  us  not  think !  Immortality  were  not  too  great  a  prize 
if  —  ha!  Thou  lean,  emaciated  friar,  what  is  it  thou 
ravest?  Even  the  conclusion  of  the  thesis:  Non  per- 
severantes  usque  ad  finem  non  sunt  pradestinati  — 
that  is  all,  and  the  end  of  the  world's  wisdom  is  — 
Death!" 

Without  understanding  the  drift  of  the  Dominican's 
soliloquy,  and  without  further  preliminaries,  Ottorino 
entered  the  cell  and,  stepping  up  to  the  friar,  who  had 


Ubc  IRecluse  ot  /iDonte  ipellegrtno      129 

reseated  himself,  he  addressed  him  with  a  low  bend  of 
the  head. 

"  Your  pardon  and  blessing,  holy  father,  for  one  whose 
weighty  business  alone  emboldens  this  intrusion." 

The  Dominican  started  at  the  suddenness  of  the  Lom- 
bard's appearance;  his  livid  cheeks  grew  paler  still,  and 
his  right  hand  convulsively  grasped  the  rope  of  his  girdle, 
as  if  he  expected  to  find  some  weapon  there. 

"  Art  thou  sent  by  heaven  or  by  hell  ?  "  he  then  said, 
darting  a  wild,  unsteady  glance  at  his  late  visitor. 

"  Doubtlessly  by  heaven,  since  I  stand  in  the  presence 
of  so  renowned  a  light  of  the  Church,"  returned  Ottorino. 

"  Speak  thy  purpose,  then !  "  replied  the  monk,  while 
he  drew  the  cowl  deeper  over  his  forehead. 

"  I  came  hither  on  a  singular  purpose,  father,  and  yet 
I  hardly  know  how  to  shape  my  question,  so  strange  it 
is,  —  but  at  least  I  may  confide  in  thy  secrecy  ?  "  Otto- 
rino replied,  while,  racked  with  doubts,  he  was  at  a  loss 
how  to  commence. 

The  Dominican  pointed  to  the  crucifix  above  the  altar, 
while  he  said : 

"  Speak  on ;   I  listen,  and  no  one  else  on  earth ! " 

"  Men  say  thou  art  profoundly  skilled  and  learned  in 
all  manner  of  doctrine,  so  that  thy  words  can  set  the  soul 
at  rest  on  every  point,"  Ottorino  began,  hesitatingly, 
almost  wishing  he  had  not  come. 

The  monk  appeared  but  little  flattered  by  this  courtesy. 

"  Men  say  many  things  —  but  to  thy  purpose,  for  only 
time  stands  between  us  and  eternity ! " 

The  Lombard  glanced  swiftly  around  the  chamber,  as 
if  to  convince  himself  that  there  was  no  listener  besides 
the  friar. 

Could  he  have  withdrawn  even  now,  he  would  have 
retraced  his  steps  to  the  city,  for  his  former  feelings  of 


I30  Caatel  t)el  /iDonte 

doubt  and  anguish  had  melted  into  softer  emotions,  and 
once  again  faith  in  the  woman  of  his  love  reigned  su- 
preme as  he  conjured  up  before  his  inner  gaze  the  face, 
the  eyes,  so  dearly  beloved. 

He  felt  the  Dominican's  gaze  burn  into  his  very  soul, 
and,  after  vainly  struggling  for  a  milder  form  in  which 
to  clothe  his  question,  he  faltered : 

"  I  love  a  lady  beautiful  and  pure  as  the  angels  of 
light,  but  of  whom  strange,  monstrous  rumours  are  afloat. 
My  heart  is  torn  and  racked,  and  my  soul  is  stifling  in 
its  anguish.  To  seek  the  truth,  father,  I  came  hither  to 
thee.  Thou  wilt  not  refuse  the  fount  to  him  who 
thirsteth  ?  " 

The  Dominican  listened  with  profound  attention,  then 
he  glanced  with  astonishment  at  his  visitor. 

"  Thou  comest  to  me  ?  Why  dost  thou  come  to  me  ? 
Who  am  I,  that  I  could  set  thy  doubting  heart  at  rest? 
Faith  is  the  rock  on  which  true  love  is  founded.  Thou 
seekest  truth  —  but  what  is  this  truth  ?  " 

The  Dominican  paused  for  a  moment. 

"  Thou  sayest  thou  lovest  her,"  he  then  continued, 
while  his  eyes  flashed  fire  and  the  pallor  of  his  face 
seemed  enhanced  by  the  glow  of  his  fixed  orbs.  "  Thou 
sayest  thou  lovest  her,  and  thou  comest  to  me  on  this 
black  errand?  Begone  —  thy  love  is  a  deception  and  a 
snare ! " 

"  Not  so,  father,  not  so!  Thou  misjudgest  me,  by  the 
crucified  One  up  there,  thou  dost!  I  love  her,  love  her 
so  madly  that  I  would  forego  all  the  world  has  in  store 
for  me  for  her!  But  if  doubts,  strange,  maddening 
doubts,  have  arisen  in  my  soul,  it  was  because  circum- 
stances even  stranger  warranted  this  quaking  fear.  I 
love  her,  love  her  —  with  a  love  one  so  calm  and  pas- 
sionless as  thyself  cannot  understand." 


XTbe  IRecluae  ot  /Donte  ipellcgrino      131 

"Thou  deemest,  then,  that  there  are  no  passions  save 
those  which  take  the  outward  form  of  speech?  None 
that,  Hke  the  Spartan's  fox,  gnaw  the  silent  heart  to 
shreds  beneath  the  mantle  ? "  replied  the  Dominican, 
gloomily.  "  But  she  who  has  enwrapped  thy  heart  in 
flame,  is  she  so  beautiful  and  does  she  love  thee  in  re- 
turn ?  " 

"  Oh,  she  is  fairer  than  a  vision  from  paradise,  and 
she  has  confessed  her  love  to  me." 

"  Indeed  —  indeed !  "  the  Dominican  muttered,  while 
he  glanced  at  Ottorino  as  if  wondering  what  sort  of 
assistance  he  could  give.  "  But,  my  son,  how  is  it  in  my 
power  to  allay  those  fears,  whose  hidden  cause  I  know 
not?" 

Ottorino  started. 

"  Thou,  father,  art  the  confessor  of  an  illustrious  lady, 
—  give  me  but  the  certainty,  and  I  will  repay  thee  as 
thou  never  hast  been  paid." 

It  was  the  Dominican's  turn  to  evince  surprise,  and 
with  such  blank  dismay  did  he  stare  at  the  Visconti  that 
the  latter  believed  his  very  worst  fears  realized.  A 
strange  gleam  lightened  the  face  of  the  monk,  as  with 
forced  composure  he  replied : 

"  Strange  indeed  —  strange  indeed  !  Yet  thou  knowest 
but  too  well  the  obligations  of  the  confessional  to  which 
thou  appealest.  Canst  thou  hope  that  less  than  a  mandate 
from  heaven  would  cause  me  to  betray  its  secrets  ?  " 

"  Give  me  but  the  truth,  father  —  give  me  but  the 
truth  1 " 

The  Dominican  remained  silent,  and  avoided  the  Vis- 
conti's  eager  gaze. 

"  I  am  answered  sufficiently  in  that  refusal  —  yet  to 
admit  a  negative  were  to  transgress  none  of  heaven's 


133  Castel  ^el  /iDonte 

mandates/'  the  Lombard  said,  despairingly,  while  he 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"  A  negative  may  affirm,  —  I  have  said  nothing,"  said 
the  Dominican,  much  agitated.  "  What  are  the  accu- 
sations thou  preferrest  against  this  very  beautiful  lady 
whom  thou  lovest  so  ardently  ?  " 

The  tinge  of  bitter  irony  in  the  monk's  speech  was  not 
lost  upon  the  Lombard,  although  he  ignored  it. 

"  They  are  not  mine,  father,  they  are  not  mine,"  he 
replied,  raising  both  hands  as  if  deprecating  the  insin- 
uation.   "  They  are  the  whisperings  of  —  " 

"  The  whisperings  —  yea,  the  whisperings,"  the  Do- 
minican interposed.  "  Yet  thou  lovest  her !  Proceed 
with  the  impeachment !  " 

"  They  say  —  they  say,"  Ottorino  replied,  vacantly, 
"  that  she  changes  her  lovers  like  her  gowns." 

He  paused,  breathless,  confused,  almost  regretting  his 
speech. 

The  Dominican  had  well-nigh  overturned  his  stool,  so 
quickly  had  he  arisen. 

"  What  ?  What  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Repeat  thy  speech ! 
Let  Satan  tickle  our  ears  with  music  for  the  damned. 
Change  her  lovers  —  like  her  gowns  ?  " 

To  Ottorino's  utter  amazement  the  friar  paused  again ; 
then  he  broke  into  such  a  shrill,  discordant  laugh,  that 
but  for  his  monkish  gown  the  Visconti  would  have  been 
tempted  to  regard  him  a  demon  from  the  nether  spheres. 

"  She  loves  not  —  she  never  has  loved !  "  the  Domin- 
ican suddenly  broke  out  with  vehemence.  "  And  as  for 
her  professed  love,  —  it  is  false !  This  at  least  I  can 
tell  thee !  " 

"  Thou  speakest  of  what  thou  knowest,  father  ?  "  Otto- 
rino gasped,  despairingly. 


XTbe  IReclusc  ot  ADontc  pellearino      133 

"I  speak  of  what  I  know,  for  the  dark  heavings  of  a 
troubled  conscience  often  cast  its  secrets  up  to  my  ken." 

"  Ah !  Thou  dost  not,  thou  wilt  not  understand  me, 
father,"  exclaimed  the  Lombard.  "  And  why  should  thou 
—  how  should  thou?  Thou  refusest  the  very  essence  of 
that  which  I  ask,  telling  me  just  enough  to  make  my  soul 
thirst  for  more." 

"  Why  should  I  ?  How  should  I  ?  "  the  Dominican  re- 
peated, like  one  in  a  trance,  "  What  if  my  calumniator 
spoke  the  truth,  not  of  me,  but  of  one  in  my  place? 
Dost  thou  know  what  hell  there  might  be  even  in  the 
confession  and  trust  which  the  object  of  some  unhallowed 
passion  reposed,  —  demonstrations  of  a  hopelessness  more 
certain  than  any  language  could  bestow?  Is  it  nothing, 
deemest  thou,  to  make  the  lips  ice-cold  in  a  kiss  of  tran- 
quil benediction  when  the  heart  is  on  fire?  To  see  a 
woman  kneel  at  one's  feet,  whose  maddening,  intox- 
icating beauty  —  but  men  rave  for  the  most  part,  and  by 
thine  eyes  I  see  that  thou  dost.  What  more  can  I  impart 
to  thee,  without  committing  the  dreadful  sin,  and  calling 
down  upon  my  head  the  vengeance  from  above  ?  " 

"  Fear  not,  father !  If  the  heavens  above  us  should 
fall,  they  would  cover  many  an  iniquity.  Thou  hast 
hinted  at  some  dark,  baleful  influence,"  the  Lombard  con- 
tinued, misinterpreting  the  friar's  soliloquy.  "  Can  aught 
breathe  the  stench  of  the  marshes  and  live  ?  " 

"  And  what  if  I  admit  so  much  ?  "  said  the  monk,  sud- 
denly. 

"  Then  there  are  two  suppositions  —  " 

"Speak!" 

"  Either  the  duke  seeks  an  alliance  for  his  kinswoman 
more  exalted  than  offers  the  nobility  of  the  land  —  " 

He  paused ;  then,  urged  by  the  Dominican's  silent  nod, 
he  continued : 


134  Castel  &cl  /Donte 

"  Or  the  high-born  lady  tiring,  after  womankind,  to- 
day, of  her  lover  of  yesterday  —  " 

"  Stop !  "  thundered  the  monk,  raising  his  hands  as  if 
conjuring  an  apparition.  "  Stop !  Verily,  thy  master  the 
devil  has  chosen  his  envoy  well!  I  cannot  answer  thee 
on  these  points ;  men  are  to  judge  men's  actions ;  God 
alone  sees  into  the  heart.  Tempt  me  no  more.  I  had 
prepared  my  soul  to  endure  whatever  may  be,  rather  than 
again  —  Leave  me  !  Tempt  me  no  more  !  "  concluded 
the  monk,  with  sudden  wildness. 

"  I  tempt  thee  to  no  sin,  father,  but  rather  to  a  deed 
pleasing  to  Him  who  is  the  fountainhead  of  truth,  re- 
deeming, perhaps,  a  fated  soul  from  the  snares  of  Satan," 
pleaded  the  knight. 

"  Nay,  then  —  if  the  devil  comes  to  us  in  angelic  form, 
who  can  resist  him  ?  "  said  the  Dominican,  with  a  voice 
resonant  of  the  echoes  of  despair.  "  But  thou,  who  hast 
approached  my  hermitage  in  the  hppe  of  enlightenment, 
thou  who  deemest  my  words  like  the  speech  of  an  oracle, 
how  dost  thou  know  that  thou  art  not  sorely  misguided? 
How  knowest  thou  that  I,  instead  of  spreading  the  tid- 
ings of  salvation,  am  not  scattering  to  the  winds  the  seeds 
of  everlasting  damnation?  How  knowest  thou  whether 
I  am  a  reformer  or  a  destroyer,  —  whether  my  wages  will 
be  glory  and  life,  or  death  and  despair,  —  whether  the 
deeds  now  slumbering  toward  their  awaking  are  prompted 
by  heaven  or  by  hell  ?  " 

Involuntarily  the  Lombard  shrank  back,  while  the 
Dominican  continued  to  speak  in  rapt  tones : 

"  But  who  says  that  I  lack  signs  to  support  my  task  ? 
What  if  revenge  was  the  first  prompter?  Did  not  the 
dream  visit  me  in  my  youth,  when  my  soul  was  pure? 
Ah,  for  those  days,  for  those  days,  when  the  flowers  and 
the  earth  and  the  skies  were  my  love,  my  delight,  — 


Ube  IRecluse  of  /Donte  pellegrino      13s 

when  I  longed  alone  for  the  infinite,  —  those  days  of 
peace  and  rapture  —  gone  —  gone  —  gone !  " 

He  broke  off  with  a  heartrending  sigh,  as  if  awaking 
from  a  dream,  and  stared  at  the  knight,  who  had  no 
more  comprehended  his  meaning  than  if  he  had  lectured 
in  Hebrew. 

"  Then,  father  confessor,  thou  avowest  that  thou  canst 
give  me  no  assistance,  that  thou  canst  not  set  my  soul  at 
rest  by  brightening  the  reputation  of  that  very  beautiful 
lady  ?  "  said  Ottorino,  with  ill-suppressed  anguish. 

"  Again  —  of  what  dost  thou  accuse  her  —  thou,  and 
not  that  vile  serpent-tongued  monster,  rumour  ? "  thun- 
dered the  Dominican.  "  Is  it  that  thou  expectest  me  to 
assert  that  in  an  age  so  depraved,  at  a  court  so  frivolous, 
beneath  skies  like  those  of  Italy,  a  woman  more  beautiful 
than  all  her  sex  is  also  more  honest  ?  " 

"  Nay  —  it  might  even  content  me  couldst  thou  but 
say  that  she  is  not  more  vile,"  Ottorino  returned,  with  a 
sigh. 

"  I  am  but  little  versed  in  the  sex,  and  know  not  how 
to  reply.  A  bookworm  of  a  monk,  what  counsel  can  he 
give  in  such  matters  ? "  replied  the  Dominican,  with  a 
sardonic  smile.  "  When  thou  canst  describe  to  me  the 
limits  of  female  wickedness,  then  I  will  tell  thee  if  she 
whom  thou  lovest  has  passed  them.  But  thou  —  thou 
who  hast  gazed  into  the  heaven  of  her  eyes,  thou  who 
hast  listened  to  the  sweet  music  of  her  voice,  —  canst 
thou  believe  the  vile  and  unblushing  calumnies  of  de- 
bauched varlets  ? "  concluded  the  monk,  gazing  at  his 
visitor  with  strange  incredulity. 

"  I  have  endeavoured  to  believe,  and  tried  to  stifle 
those  fears,  father,  but  they  return  ever  and  ever,"  re- 
plied Ottorino,  while  his  burning  orbs  were  riveted  upon 
the  monk,  mutely  pleading  for  one  ray  of  light. 


136  Castel  Ocl  /©onte 

The  Dominican  rose. 

"  Why,  then,"  he  said,  slowly,  pausing  during  one  long 
moment,  in  which  the  struggle  of  powerful  passions 
rendered  his  usually  calm  face  almost  terrible,  "  fear  still 
and  be  content." 

After  having  pronounced  these  words,  the  shock  of 
which  vibrated  through  every  nerve  of  his  interrogator's 
body,  the  Dominican  turned  away,  as  if  to  say :  "  I  have 
now  satisfied  thy  desire,  thy  folly  be  on  thine  own  head." 

Ottorino  endeavoured  to  summon  sufficient  energy  to 
utter  his  thanks  to  the  friar  with  some  degree  of  com- 
posure, when  the  Dominican,  facing  him,  asked  if  he 
would  not  accept  of  such  poor  accommodations  for  the 
night  as  his  hermitage  afforded. 

"  It  were  perilous  even  for  one  acquainted  with  the 
locality  to  pass  through  the  wastes  of  Monte  Pellegrino 
in  the  dark,  for  there  are  more  rogues  than  you  wot  of, 
signor,"  the  monk  said,  with  a  melancholy  smile.  "  But 
I  remember  thou  art  a  soldier  and  must  not  know  fear, 
therefore  I  ask  thee  to  stay  with  me  as  my  guard,  if  thou 
wilt  not  otherwise;  the  obligation  will  then  be  mine.  I 
cannot,  indeed,  play  the  host,  for  I  must  to  my  interrupted 
toil,  but  Brother  Cyrillo  is  a  better  and  more  cheerful 
companion  than  he  who  stands  before  thee.  Ho,  Fra 
Cyrillo ! " 

The  attendant  of  the  monk  appeared,  crawling  in  at 
the  doorway  on  his  hands  and  feet,  having  been  occupied 
in  an  investigation  of  a  more  jocund  nature  than  his 
superior.  At  the  Dominican's  request  he  anxiously  be- 
stirred himself  to  promote  the  comfort  of  his  guest,  who 
availed  himself  of  the  invitation  to  remain,  principally  for 
the  reason  that  he  cared  not  to  meet  any  one  in  his  present 
state  of  mind.    But  though  he  was  far  from  the  mood  of 


Ube  IRecIuse  of  /iDonte  pellegrtno      137 

enjoying  it,  he  was  not  to  escape  so  readily  Fra  Cyrillo's 
loquacious  exuberance. 

Never  was  there  a  greater  contrast  than  between  the 
stern  Dominican  and  this  fat,  bubbling,  and  jolly  friar. 
He  talked  incessantly,  even  while  blowing  the  coals  into 
a  blaze,  and  expanded  most  prolifically  on  the  excellence 
of  the  viands  he  spread  before  the  knight.  He  also  re- 
garded with  woful  glances  Ottorino's  brimming  tankard 
of  wine,  which  the  latter  had  not  even  set  to  his  lips. 

"  Drink  while  you  may,  drink  while  you  may,"  he  at 
last  broke  out,  with  a  rueful  glance  at  his  own  goblet, 
"  no  man  drinks  for  ever !  This  is  a  vigil  of  the  Church, 
and  it  behoves  us  brethren  to  set  the  laity  an  example. 
It  is  wine  from  Chios,  fit  for  the  saints." 

And  the  round-bellied  frate  smacked  his  lips,  while 
he  caused  the  contents  of  one  tankard  after  another  to 
disappear. 

For  some  time  Ottorino,  instead  of  listening  to  Cyrillo's 
discourse,  was  lost  in  deep,  abstracted  reverie.  The 
amazing  contradiction  in  the  Dominican's  words  had  so 
utterly  staggered  him  that  his  thoughts  were  in  a  hope- 
less whirl.  For  a  moment  the  hope  gleamed  flashlike  in 
his  heart  that  the  friar's  revelations  might  have  been 
prompted  by  motives  of  jealousy,  but,  small  as  this  last 
straw  was,  he  let  it  go;  it  was  a  surmise  too  wild,  too 
improbable. 

All  the  while  Fra  Cyrillo  spoke  on,  nothing  daunted 
by  the  sullenness  of  his  companion,  who  never  heard  one 
word  of  his  long  discourse.  It  was  with  a  start  that  he 
heard  the  remote  bells  of  cloisters  and  convents  toll  the 
midnight  hour.  The  fat  friar  then  apologized  to  Ottorino 
for  keeping  him  awake  so  long,  and,  laughing  jollily  at 
his  own  remarks,  busied  himself  with  preparing  and  ar- 
ranging the  rushes  which  were  to  constitute  the  Lorn- 


X38  Castel  &el  flDonte 

bard's  impromptu  resting-place.  After  having  performed 
this  task  to  his  satisfaction,  the  friar  was  about  to  betake 
himself  to  his  own  heap,  when  his  superior,  in  the  ad- 
joining chamber,  desired  him  to  bring  him  another  lamp 
ere  he  retired  to  rest.  The  jolly  friar  immediately  rinsed 
his  mouth  of  the  fumes  of  the  wine,  took  a  jar  of  oil, 
and  disappeared  with  a  somewhat  wavering  step.  Then 
the  Lombard  stretched  himself  on  his  rough  bed,  but  it 
was  long  before  sleep  closed  his  lids.  The  reaction,  when 
he  recalled  the  strange  incident  at  the  convent,  coupled 
with  the  dark  insinuations  of  the  ferryman,  was  so  great 
that  he  fell  from  one  uneasy  slumber  into  another,  broken 
by  fitful  visions  of  the  face  which  with  so  mad  a  love 
he  had  dreamed  into  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  X. 

LA   ZISA 

The  Moorish  palace  of  La  Zisa  lay  bathed  in  the 
splendour  of  the  full  moon.  A  soft  breeze  dreamily 
stirred  the  leaves  of  the  majestic  palm-trees  which  gave 
to  the  Oriental  structure  a  weird  and  dreamlike  appear- 
ance. Built  and  inhabited  by  the  Norman,  William  the 
First,  the  palace  had  been  deserted  ever  since  Henry  the 
Sixth  had  entered  Palermo  on  his  tour  of  conquest.  Per- 
haps its  walls  reechoed  the  dying  wails  of  the  last  of 
the  Norman  kings.  The  surroundings  of  La  Zisa  were 
deserted,  as  if  the  palace  had  changed  to  an  habitation 
of  evil  spirits,  and  not  one  belated  nightly  wanderer  ap- 
proached the  confines  of  the  Moorish  gardens. 

The  slanting  rays  of  the  moonlight,  which  fell  upon 
the  grilled  windows  on  the  western  side  of  the  inner 
court,  —  for  the  palace  possessed  no  windows  on  the 
outside,  —  showed  two  personages  engaged  in  lively  con- 
versation. One  was  the  disguised  peasant  who  had  so 
recently  come  into  contact  with  the  watery  elements,  and 
who  looked  ghastly  enough  in  his  dripping  garments. 
The  other  was  Crivello  the  Catalan,  whose  usually  gloomy 
features  were  now  lit  up  with  a  vexation  that  gave  him 
a  most  demoniacal  aspect. 

"  Yea  —  we  almost  missed  our  cue,  but  this  cursed 
Lombard  shall  have  a  handful  of  our  bad  luck,  let  but 

139 


i4«  (Eastel  &cl  /ftonte 

his  Highness  hear  your  story,"  said  Crivello,  who  had 
been  listening  to  the  bravo's  long  detail.  "  And  hark !  I 
hear  him,  for  I  would  know  his  gait  came  he  on  wolf's 
paws." 

Almost  as  these  words  were  uttered,  two  dark  figures 
in  long  Spanish  cloaks,  both  wearing  slouched  hats  drawn 
deeply  over  their  faces,  entered  the  inner  court.  Neither 
spoke,  and  so  rapt  was  the  Duke  of  Altamura  in  pro- 
found rumination  that  he  heeded  not  Caserta's  outcry 
when  his  gaze  first  lighted  on  the  sinister  form  of  the 
bravo.  But  when  the  duke's  eye  did  suddenly  en- 
counter the  scowling  visage  of  that  worthy,  he  gave  a 
start  backward  and  drew  a  stiletto  from  his  breast. 

"  My  lord,  it  is  a  messenger  from  Ghino,"  exclaimed 
Crivello,  remarking  the  gesture  of  the  duke. 

The  bravo  bent  almost  to  his  boots,  or,  rather,  sandals, 
for  they  closely  resembled  the  old  Italian  greaves. 

"  I  beg  your  mercy,  honest  signor,"  said  the  duke, 
returning  the  bow  with  mock  solemnity.  "  Who  could 
have  expected  to  meet  with  anything  but  honest  folk  at 
this  place  —  and  in  such  company?  But  you  spoke  in 
good  time,  Crivello,"  the  duke  added,  with  a  meaning 
glance  at  his  drawn  weapon ;  then  addressing  in  turn  the 
bandit,  he  continued  in  the  same  tone  of  veiled  sarcasm : 

"  As  for  you,  honest  signor,  whatever  illustrious  name 
you  may  bear,  you  look  for  all  the  world  as  if  you  had 
walked  the  waves  of  the  sea  as  did  the  Saviour  of  old, 
only  with  less  flattering  results.  Tell  us  how  it  befell, 
and  give  me  the  message  you  are  bearer  of." 

The  tone  of  the  duke  had  assumed  a  threatening  shade, 
but  the  bravo  needed  no  impelling  force  to  detail  his 
wrongs,  of  which  he  evidently  cherished  the  most  bitter 
recollection. 

"  Well,  you  came  well-nigh  failing ;  the  best  of  us  may 


fail,  even  with  the  devil's  own  hand  in  it,  though  he  has 
helped  the  cause  greatly,"  said  the  duke,  thoughtfully, 
and  not  at  all  so  incensed  against  the  rash  Lombard  as 
the  two  worthies  had  anticipated. 

"And  now,  honest  signor,  are  you  not  very  anxious 
and  resolved  to  be  avenged  on  him  for  this  long  deferred 
baptismal  of  yours  ?  " 

"I  will  pay  him,  capital  and  interest,  ere  many  suns 
go  down  in  Palermo,"  said  the  bravo,  with  a  vicious 
glare. 

"  Then  hearken  to  me,  my  honest  friend,"  said  the 
duke,  in  a  tone  most  affable,  as  if  he  offered  the  bandit 
preferment  and  recompense  for  his  services.  "  If  you 
but  pluck  one  hair  of  him  who  recognized  you  for  what 
you  are,  I  will  have  you  torn  to  pieces  by  the  most  ex- 
quisite and  marrow-piercing  torture  you  have  ever  heard 
of.  Remember  what  I  have  said ;  keep  your  tongue 
behind  your  teeth  and  return  to  the  mainland,  for  if 
to-morrow  at  sundown  the  faintest  shadow  of  your  pres- 
ence darken  the  walks  of  this  city,  I  will  have  you  hanged 
so  high  that  you  shall  be  the  highest  in  the  whole  king- 
dom, and  thus  fitly  rewarded  for  your  valour.  Take 
him  away,  Crivello !  Pay  him  double  what  I  have  prom- 
ised him,  then  let  him  go." 

After  staring  at  each  other  in  vacant  bewilderment, 
the  two  worthies  left  the  court  of  La  Zisa,  the  bandit 
bowing  profusely  in  anticipation  of  his  reward.  Their 
steps  died  away  in  the  stillness  of  the  Southern  night,  a 
stillness  which  was  only  broken  by  the  fitful  tune  of  a 
barcarole  floating  softly  on  perfumed  breezes  from  across 
the  bay,  or  by  the  uneasy  fluttering  of  a  bat  seeking  the 
dusk.  The  duke  hastily  broke  the  seal  of  the  parch- 
ment which  the  bandit  had  delivered  to  him,  and  which. 


t4s  Castel  del  Aonte 

while  outwardly  showing  signs  of  ill  usage,  had  re- 
tained its  contents  well  preserved. 

The  Count  of  Caserta's  gaze  was  riveted  upon  the 
duke's  countenance  as  the  latter  perused  the  message 
from  Ghino  di  Tacco,  Calabria's  celebrated  bandit  chief. 

"  Has  the  Conclave  spoken  ? "  he  at  last  broke  out, 
with  ill-concealed  impatience. 

"  Whether  the  present  Conclave  will  make  a  Pope  or 
not  —  it  will  surely  cause  diverse  halos  to  encircle  heads 
now  deep  in  sin !  " 

"  In  that  event  I  deem,  if  all  the  saints  in  heaven  were 
as  contentious  after  an  errand  as  the  porters  at  the  gates 
of  St.  John  Lateran,  there  is  neither  a  prince  nor  lord  in 
Italy  at  this  present  naming  who  is  not  too  affectionately 
and  zealously  served  by  the  devil  to  need  their  aid !  " 

"  Then  perchance  my  lord  Andrea  Colonna's  good 
devil  hath  stood  his  friend  on  this  occasion,"  replied  the 
duke,  gravely.  "  Maybe  he  prayed  so  earnestly  in  his 
tribulation  that  it  was  thought  expedient  to  leave  him 
to  be  plucked  at  a  time  of  less  grace  than  the  present, 
when  heaven  showers  indulgences  as  liberally  as  girls 
throw  the  yellow  asphodels  at  one  another  in  the  Cam- 
pagtia  in  April." 

"  Your  Lordship  is  pleased  to  jest.  A  Colonna  in  the 
chair  of  St.  Peter  ?  " 

"  The  sidewalks  in  Rome  are  slippery  and  the  melons 
are  ripening,"  returned  the  duke,  with  a  meaning  glance. 
"  Then  let  the  saints  come  to  the  rescue !  Have  we  not 
most  generously  swelled  their  number?  Have  we  not 
increased  the  efficacy  of  their  intercession?  I  would  be 
Gonfalonier  of  Rome  and  shoe  my  horse  with  silver, — 
but  not  by  the  grace  of  the  Church  or  the  charity  of  the 
Roman  mob !    Yet  there  is  one  who  thwarts  and  destroys 


Xa  Zisu  143 

all  my  plans ! "  the  duke  concluded,  with  a  passionate 
outburst. 

"  Do  I  live  to  hear  the  Duke  of  Altamura  say  this  of 
a  man  above  ground  ?  "  Caserta  replied,  with  a  sneer. 

"  Nay,  Reinald  Aquino,  you  do  not,  by  San  Gennaro, 
you  do  not ! "  returned  the  duke,  hurriedly,  and  his  com- 
panion remarked  that  he  turned  suddenly  pale. 

"  The  last  incumbent  of  the  office  died  rather  sud- 
denly." 

"  I  remember,  when  I  rode  behind  him  on  my  silly 
mule,  perched  in  my  violet  cardinal  robes,  his  horse  be- 
spattered me  with  mud  as  he  reined  up  suddenly  to 
salute  a  certain  high-born  lady.  I  was  in  such  a  passion 
that  I  almost  choked.  You  should  have  heard  how  the 
rabble  laughed !  " 

"  Ay  —  they  laughed  so  loud  that  we  heard  it  at 
Naples !  But  what  matters  it  ?  Your  Lordship  is  the 
man  for  the  place  —  and  twenty-five  thousand  florins  — 
a  beggar's  dream !  " 

"  And  Christ  was  sold  for  thirty  silver  pieces !  Though, 
as  for  our  fitness,  —  we  have  been  lawyer,  soldier,  priest, 
Is  that  not  a  receipt  to  make  the  devil?  For  he  hath 
been  all  three  by  turns ! " 

"  And  was  adjudged  great  in  all.  But  your  Lordship's 
acceptance  must  head  off  the  choice  of  the  Conclave !  " 

"  Ha !  Is  then  the  hour  so  nigh  ?  Am  I  indeed  to  rise 
a  second  Crescentius  to  plant  the  banners  of  a  new 
Roman  world  over  the  Capitol?  And  who  would  not 
obey  him,  an  Italian,  uniting  in  his  person  worldly  power 
with  papal  sanction!  Rise,  then,  my  star!  Thy  vision 
approaches  its  fulfilment,  Dom  Alamo !  " 

After  this  eloquent  outburst  of  enthusiasm  the  duke 
turned  suddenly  to  Caserta. 


144  Castel  ^el  /Donte 

"  But  for  you,  Reinald  Aquino  —  where  sets  the  sun 
of  your  dream  ?  " 

There  was  something  in  Altamura's  demeanour  which 
caused  Caserta  to  blanch.  Disregarding  the  duke's  ques- 
tion, and  turning  away  to  avoid  the  penetrating  gaze 
which  he  felt  burning  into  the  very  depths  of  his  soul, 
he  stammered :   "  Has  the  Moor  arrived  ?  " 

"  Yon  luminary  has  not  passed  the  zenith ! " 

"  May  his  tidings  be  better  than  his  aspect ! "  Caserta 
remarked,  with  a  forced  smile,  retreating  so  precipitately 
that  he  had  vanished  almost  before  the  duke  remarked 
his  absence. 

"  Weakling  —  weakling  —  cursed  weakling !  "  Alta- 
mura  exclaimed,  unable  to  control  himself  longer.  "  Not 
from  probity  you  resent  the  bribe,  but  from  pale,  quaking 
fear,  detesting  treason  not  for  treason's  sake,  but  from 
abject,  skulking  cowardice !  Ha !  If  you  resist  that  final 
repast  in  store  for  you,  you  are  not  worth  the  having  for 
emperor  or  Pope !  " 

The  duke  paused  with  a  renewed  glance  at  the  moon. 

"  He  will  not  be  here  for  an  hour  at  least,"  he  mut- 
tered, after  a  brief  observation  of  that  luminary.  "  Zem 
is  as  unfailing  as  death.  Meanwhile  I  long  for  the 
caresses  of  my  Francesca,  —  it  seems  an  eternity  since 
yesterday." 

And  with  a  sudden  resolution  the  duke,  traversing  with 
hurried,  stealthy  footsteps  the  long,  arcaded  corridors  of 
La  Zisa,  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  Torre  del  Diavolo, 
which  he  reached  in  comparatively  short  time.  The  senti- 
nel, belonging  to  the  Catalan  guard  of  Crivello,  admitted 
the  belated  visitor  at  once,  and  ascending  a  narrow,  wind- 
ing stairway  to  a  door,  the  duke  noiselessly  entered  a 
chamber  lighted  only  by  the  pale,  ghostly  rays  of  the 
moon.    The  soft  night  wind  streaming  through  the  quaint, 


Xa  Zfsa  145 

oval  windows  seemed  to  be  the  only  thing  alive  or  awake 
in  the  chamber,  so  still  and  tranquil  was  it  within. 

But  the  chamber  contained  another  inmate  beside  him- 
self. 

Reclining  on  an  Oriental  ottoman  of  fantastic  design, 
the  interwoven  golden  flowers  of  which  sparkled 
strangely  in  the  dusk  that  pervaded  the  room,  and  lean- 
ing on  her  arm  lost  in  deep  reverie,  the  shadowy  out- 
lines of  Francesca  di  Lesina's  matchless  form  were  dimly 
visible.  The  duke  approached  on  tiptoe  without  causing 
her  to  stir,  and,  kneeling  beside  her,  took  her  hands  and 
pressed  them  to  his  lips. 

Francesca  turned,  and  the  profound  sadness  in  her 
countenance  sparkled  into  joy  and  brightness  as  she  per- 
ceived her  lover  in  this  attitude  of  tenderness  and  de- 
votion. 

"  You  see,  my  love,  how  you  are  always  uppermost  in 
my  mind,"  said  Ferrando.  "  But  have  you  thought  of 
my  plans,  and  are  you  willing  to  execute  your  own  part 
therein  ?  " 

"  Am  I  not  yours  ?  Am  I  not  what  you  make  of  me, 
Ferrando?  I  have  no  refuge  but  to  you  in  any  part  of 
my  soul !     You  have  not  betrayed  me,  —  I  have  fallen 

—  knowingly,  even  beneath  my  own  pity  and  contempt !  " 
returned  Francesca,  while  her  head  dropped  despairingly 
upon  her  breast.  "  But  speak  on  your  words  of  love ! 
There  is  music  in  them  that  lulls  the  anguish  of  my  soul 
to  rest,  as  if  one  of  the  damned  should  hear  one  note 
from  paradise." 

"  Then  tell  me  that  you  love  me,"  replied  the  duke, 
tenderly.    "  It  is  a  word  that  ever  lingered  on  your  lips 

—  once.    But  now  —  now  —  I  fear  you  are  changed !  " 

"  Oh,  if  I  did  not  love  you,  Ferrando,  woman  and  lost 


146  Castcl  &el  /Route 

that  I  am,  we  would  not  have  met  again !  "  replied  the 
girl,  sinking  into  the  outstretched  arms  of  her  lover. 

"  Then  —  how  could  you  hesitate  to  lend  me  your  aid 
in  the  matter  of  which  I  spoke  to  you  ?  "  returned  the 
duke,  in  tones  of  mingled  tenderness  and  reproach. 

Francesca  looked  up  into  the  eyes  that  rested  on  her 
face,  as  if  to  read  their  most  hidden  thoughts. 

"  But  it  is  strange  that  you  should  wish  me  to  counter- 
feit your  kinswoman  —  play  the  wanton  in  her  name," 
she  then  replied,  vehemently.  "And  yet  you  have  not 
told  me  the  cause  which  prompts  this  strange  request." 

"The  causes  are  two,  —  one  of  state  policy;  the  other 
a  carnival  joke.  Listen,  my  Francesca !  Of  all  the 
knights  who  journeyed  hither  on  their  fool's  errand,  the 
envoy  of  Matteo  Visconti  honours  us  with  closer  atten- 
tion than  all  the  rest ;  besides,  he  loves  Helena  di  Miraval, 
our  kinswoman ;  sneaks  around  her  bower  like  a  lost 
soul  around  the  portals  of  heaven,  and  she,  I  fear,  is 
not  altogether  indifferent  to  his  admiration ! " 

The  duke  paused  with  a  sardonic  smile  and  a  sug- 
gestive shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

"You  fear  —  Ferrando?"  the  lady  exclaimed,  with 
flashing  eyes  and  hands  convulsively  clenched. 

"  Misunderstand  not  my  meaning,  fairest  flower  of 
Italy!  The  Visconti  possesses  that  instinct  of  distrust, 
an  intuition  which  is  the  greatest  trait  of  a  statesman. 
But  his  suit  is  not  to  our  liking,  and  we  propose  to  con- 
vince the  daring  youth  that  it  is  not  to  his  own,  and  that 
he  had  best  abandon  the  field.  The  part  I  ask  of  you  I 
cannot  ask  of  one  I  trust  less  —  you  understand,  and," 
continued  the  duke,  slowly  and  with  strange  emphasis, 
"  it  is  her  nature  you  will  play,  and  no  assumption.  You 
wrong  her  not,  for  methinks  all  Italy  has  heard  by  this 
time  what  manner  of  siren  she  is." 


Xa  S^isa  X47 

"  If  we  believed  all  we  heard,  Ferrando,  if  we  could 
even  deem  it  possible,"  said  Francesca,  with  a  burning 
wildness  in  her  gaze  which  startled  even  the  duke. 

"  I  speak  not  now  of  the  lies  that  are  told  of  us,  but 
of  the  truths  that  are  told  of  her,"  he  replied,  hastily,  and, 
rising  as  if  to  escape  the  penetrating  glance  of  the  woman, 
he  walked  up  and  down  the  apartment  while  he  con- 
tinued : 

"  But  since  you  so  dislike  the  part,  only  to  some  few 
whom  I  mistrust  shall  you  play  it;  to  the  barons  of 
Apulia,  whom  I  expect  in  all  secrecy,  you  shall  be  an- 
other. You  are  beautiful  —  matchlessly  beautiful,  Fran- 
cesca, and  they  are  men  with  an  eye  for  charms  like 
yours.  For  them  you  shall  be  the  wife  of  our  castellan, 
but  let  not  Crivello  know  the  jest  till  it  is  well  played, 
for  he  is  a  hidalgo  and  an  old  Christian!  Under  this 
guise  we  shall  invite  the  barons  to  a  little  private  colla- 
tion here  in  the  tower  while  Crivello  is  abroad  on  an 
errand  of  mine,  and  —  why  stare  you  so  dismally,  as  if  I 
bade  you  in  all  truth  to  betray  me  ?  " 

A  shrill  laugh  broke  the  momentary  silence  which  had 
succeeded  the  duke's  question,  a  laugh  so  ghastly  that 
the  very  walls  seemed  to  ring  and  to  vibrate. 

"  Forgive  me,  Ferrando  —  I  did  not  know  how  low  I 
had  fallen,"  Francesca  then  said,  with  a  fixed  look  up- 
wards, biting  her  lips  till  the  blood  flowed.  "  Forgive 
me,  —  I  am  not  yet  accustomed  to  be  the  thing  I  am,  but  I 
will  try  to  remember  it.  I  will  abandon  myself  to  it 
anon,  but  memory  and  consciousness  —  can  only  death 
destroy  them?  Can  death?  Why,  if  so,  lies  he  not 
couched  at  the  base  of  these  battlements  ?  " 

"What  marvel  that  I  look  around  in  vain  for  some 
hope,  since  they  who  love  me  best  will  not  even  speak  a 
iew  words,  a.  few  carnival  jests,  to  save  the  cause  for 


t4$  Castel  ^el  /l^onte 

which  I  labour  —  and  myself ! "  exclaimed  the  duke, 
mournfully.  "  Can  you  dream,  sweetheart,  that  I  would 
permit  the  vulgar  breath  of  another  to  profane  your 
beauty  ?  Be  it  so  —  I  alone  will  meet  them  in  this  castle ! 
Ah,  what  a  meeting  it  will  be!  Amazed  at  beholding 
one  another  here,  —  even  if  they  listen  not  to  my  gilded 
promises,  —  a  universal  doubt  shall  arise  amongst  them 
which  will  paralyze  their  strength  and  serve  my  purposes 
as  well.  Senseless  that  I  was !  I  had  even  prepared  a 
masked  array  such  as  my  jealousy  of  your  beauty  ap- 
proved. The  garb  of  the  dazzling  Fata  Morgana,  glitter- 
ing all  over  with  gems  as  of  woven  gold-dust,  was  to 
adorn  my  beautiful  Francesca,  while  I  thought  to  witness 
the  adoration  your  loveliness  must  provoke  humbly  fol- 
lowing in  your  train  in  the  guise  of  a  black  Nubian 
slave." 

The  duke  had  concluded  his  speech  with  an  injured 
and  sorrowful  air,  avoiding  Francesca's  gaze  and  fixing 
his  eyes  on  the  floor. 

"  You  —  you !  Why,  then,  if  you  love  me,  and  it  is 
no  black  trick  of  yours,  I  will  plague  you  with  your  own 
device  till  you  assume  your  own  form  again !  And  if  you 
have  any  regard  for  your  own  escutcheon,  methinks,  I 
will  overplay  the  part  you  have  laid  out  for  me,  and 
she  whom  I  am  to  represent  shall  be  all  you  wish  her 
to  be." 

"  I  doubt  whether  all  your  charms,  potent  and  alluring 
though  they  are,  will  avail  aught  against  him  for  whose 
delectation  I  have  arranged  this  amusement,  should  he 
suspect  you  to  be  another  than  the  one  you  are  to 
embody." 

"  Is  this  knight,  then,  so  firmly  fixed  in  his  affections 
that  no  lady  may  dare  to  assail  his  constancy?" 

"  Has  Crivello  never  told  you  of  him  ?     He  stalks 


Xa  jj^isa  149 

amongst  us  as  if  he  were  some  commissioner  sent  from 
above,  to  turn  up  the  lids  of  the  darkness  at  whose  edge 
we  stand !  But  for  the  argus  eye  of  the  Catalan  I  should 
not  have  suspected  him  even  to  possess  the  heel  of 
Achilles.  But  can  you  wonder?  As  beautiful  a  lady  as 
she  is,  and  offering  herself  with  that  marvellous  un- 
guardedness  and  warmth  for  which  she  is  justly  re- 
nowned? And  have  you  never  heard  in  ballads,  Fran- 
cesca,  that  slighted  love  makes  a  colder  nun  than  all  the 
vows  of  the  eleven  thousand  virgins  of  Cologne  ?  " 

"  I  may  live  to  know  it,"  returned  the  girl,  leaning  her 
head  thoughtfully  on  her  white  arm  and  gazing  into  the 
court  beneath,  white  in  the  pale  moonlight. 

"  Never  —  never,  unless  your  love  wanders  from 
mine !  "  said  the  duke,  ardently.  "  You  have  been  moody 
and  wilful  this  night,  my  Francesca,  yet  I  know  you  un- 
derstand me  and  your  soul  follows  the  flight  of  mine, 
which  shows  the  way.  The  time  is  not  far  when  you  may 
share  a  throne !  The  king  is  dreaming  of  the  poet's  golden 
age,  —  holding  discourse  with  the  stars.  Let  him  dream 
on  —  till  the  stars  begin  to  fall !  But  to  return  to  our 
plan!  You  may,  disguised  and  masked,  and  skilled  as 
you  are  in  imitating  the  tones  and  gestures  of  others, 
easily  assay  the  Lombard's  metal,  which  perchance  is 
false  after  all,  though  it  rings  so  silvery  clear.  More- 
over, we  are  favoured  in  our  projects  by  the  lady  of 
Miraval's  own  caprice,  for,  with  the  hidden  purpose  of 
meeting  her  lover,  she  has  made  known  her  intention  of 
visiting  the  great  carnival  in  some  unknown  disguise. 
If  she  can  but  be  made  aware  of  her  knight's  dancing 
attendance  on  our  beautiful  Fata  Morgana,  there  will 
be  capital  fun.  As  a  last  resort,  we  are  resolved  to  try 
what  rivalry  will  do.  For  this  purpose  we  hold  in  readi- 
ness  our  valiant   San    Severino,   blustering   ass   of  the 


ISP  Castel  &el  /ftonte 

marshes,  who  still  regards  the  pigmy  rabble  of  his 
robbers'  den  lords  of  the  universe!  It  shall  be  a  mem- 
orable time,  this  carnival  preceding  the  coronation,  and 
long  remembered  among  men." 

Francesca  leaned  her  head  against  the  duke  as  the 
latter  started  to  rise. 

"  I  will  do  your  bidding,"  she  said,  softly.  "  I  am 
yours,  a  thing  without  a  will  of  its  own  —  do  with  me 
as  you  like,  as  in  bygone  times !  " 

The  duke  put  his  arms  around  the  trembling  form  and 
tenderly  kissed  the  white  brow  of  the  girl. 

"  I  knew  my  sweetheart  would  not  fail  me,  and  I 
shall  be  with  you  and  close  at  your  side,  my  Francesca. 
But  now  I  must  hasten  to  despatch  some  matters  of  state. 
I  noted  not  in  our  love-talk  how  late  the  night  had 
waxed.  Come!  Since  your  memory  carries  you  back 
to  bygone  days  so  often,  I,  too,  remember  that  I  never 
used  to  leave  you  without  a  caress  that  was  given  and 
not  taken." 

The  recollection  thus  touched  went  to  the  depths  of 
the  girl's  heart,  and  the  Duke  of  Altamura  did  not  leave 
the  Torre  del  Diavolo  without  a  pledge  of  tenderness 
from  his  fair  and  loving  captive. 

The  moon  was  approaching  her  zenith  when  the  duke 
retraced  his  steps  toward  La  Zisa.  Dark,  fortress-like 
palaces  in  the  Arabo-Norman  style  rose  towering  from 
luxuriant  gardens,  and  the  five-domed  cloister  of  San 
Giovanni  degli  Fremiti,  with  its  fantastic  brown  and 
terra  cotta  fagade,  its  scarlet  arches  and  pink  cupolas, 
appeared  like  the  retreat  of  a  magician  among  tall  and 
waving  palms.  An  avenue  of  tall  cypresses,  with  an 
undergrowth  of  Judas-trees,  was  a  blaze  of  ruddy  ame- 
thyst in  the  pale,  ghostly  moonlight.  The  path  was  car- 
peted with  gray-blue  periwinkles,  the  flowers  of  death, 


Xa  Zisa  151 

and  led  up  toward  the  grotesque  palace.  The  night-birds 
were  uttering  queer  shrieks  and  cries  from  their  shady 
boughs.  The  duke  glanced  again  at  the  moon,  and  again 
down  the  road  to  the  bay,  and  then  reentered  the  Sara- 
cenic palace.  But  the  most  careful  scrutiny  without,  the 
most  thorough  investigation  within,  failed  to  reveal  the 
person  of  the  African.  The  expression  of  disappoint- 
ment which  clouded  the  duke's  brow  was  soon  inten- 
sified to  one  of  mingled  chagrin  and  uneasiness.  Zem 
had  never  failed  him  before,  no  matter  how  difficult  the 
task  nor  how  distant  the  goal.  The  duke's  gait  grew 
more  restless  every  moment,  his  vexation  not  permitting 
his  remaining  on  one  spot.  After  awaiting  in  vain  his 
gloomy  messenger's  arrival,  he  at  last  retraced  his  steps 
toward  the  city,  conferring  upon  Zem  every  epithet  in 
his  voluble  stores  of  highly  flavoured  appellatives. 


BOOK   THE   SECOND 


"  Pot  sorridendo  disse  :  to  son  Manfredi 
Nipote  di  Gostanza  Imperadrice  : 
Ond''  to  ti  prego  che,  quando  tu  riedi, 
Vadi  a  mia  bella  figlia,  genitrice 
DeW  onor  di  Cicilia,  e  d''  Aragona^ 
£  dichi  a  lei  il  ver,  s^  altro  si  dice. 

—  Dante,  Purgatorio,  Canto  III.,  112-118. 


CHAPTER  I. 

FATA   MORGANA 

It  was  on  the  eve  of  the  following  day.  The  g^eat 
Ghibelline  confederacy  was  now  an  accomplished  fact, 
and  Manfred  was  not  only  in  name,  but  in  reality,  the 
leader  of  the  party,  both  in  the  North  and  South.  The 
council  had  ratified  the  treaties  between  the  chief  Italian 
principalities  and  the  new  Hohenstaufen  kingdom  with- 
out one  dissenting  vote.  Even  those  opposed  at  the  start 
had  eventually  sanctioned  the  plan  proposed  by  the  chan- 
cellor, John  of  Alife.  This  was  to  dismiss  the  Germans 
of  Landulf  of  Trent,  the  new  state  requiring  neither  for- 
eign sanction  nor  auxiliaries,  —  a  motion  seconded  with 
unusual  warmth  by  the  Duke  of  Altamura.  Galvano 
Lancia's  suggestion,  to  await  the  confirmation  of  Con- 
radino's  death,  or  the  result  of  the  election  at  Viterbo, 
was  overruled ;  the  same  fate  befell  Marino  Capece's  re- 
quest to  introduce  the  messenger  of  the  Abbot  of  Con- 
stanz.  The  party  of  the  Guelphs  seemed  completely 
crushed,  and  even  the  unaccountable  silence  and  pro- 
longed absence  of  Count  Cenci,  Manfred's  plenipotentiary 
at  the  Conclave,  was  referred  to  in  a  light,  bantering 
tone.  The  council  dissolved  so  intoxicated  with  its  own 
triumphs  that  no  countermove  from  the  hostile  camp 
could  checkmate  its  success. 

The  masking  for  the  great  carnival  which  was  to  form 

'55 


15^  Gastel  t)el  {fbontc 

the  programme  of  the  day  had  commenced  at  an  early 
hour,  and  Ottorino,  after  leaving  the  council-hall,  wan- 
dered through  the  city,  viewing  absently  the  riot  and 
splendour  and  universal  gaiety  of  these  Christian  Satur- 
nalia. 

At  a  period  of  such  general  dissolution  of  manners, 
when  in  addition  to  the  licentious  population  of  Italy  the 
capital  of  Sicily  was  crowded  with  innumerable  foreign- 
ers, the  confusion  was  beyond  conception,  while  the  mag- 
nificent display  of  luxury  surpassed  imagination.  The 
visitors,  surrounded  by  all  the  temptations  which  lux- 
urious Palermo  could  offer,  abandoned  themselves  to 
their  unrestrained  desires,  endeavouring  to  surpass  them- 
selves. 

The  endless  variety  of  costumes  displayed  by  a  multi- 
tude assembled  from  every  corner  of  Italy,  Spain,  Greece, 
Africa,  and  the  countries  of  the  North,  was  now  exag- 
gerated by  the  wild  fancifulness  and  grotesque  gaiety 
of  the  carnival  devices.  And  though  this  revelry  at  its 
season  was  common  to  all  nations  of  the  Christian  world, 
it  was  practised  in  many  different  forms,  according  to 
influence  of  climate  and  national  character.  The  sober, 
pedantic  Northmen  beheld  with  amazement  the  excesses 
into  which  the  ardent  temperament  of  the  South,  re- 
leased from  every  shackle,  rushed  like  a  foaming  torrent, 
all  sparkles,  uproar,  and  glistening  tumult.  And  the 
Italians,  revelling  in  their  own  exuberant  gaiety,  failed 
not  to  satirize  their  visitors  with  the  most  laughable 
buffooneries,  ingeniously  veiled  from  the  notice  of  the 
strangers  themselves,  as  their  violence  and  insolent  igno- 
rance were  justly  to  be  dreaded. 

Passing  through  streets  blazing  with  banners  and  pic- 
tured tapestries  and  festooned  with  flowers  and  rich  orna- 
ments, amid  shouts  of  laughter  and  ribaldry  and  roaring 


jfata  /IDordana  157 

music,  Ottorino  pursued  his  way  —  he  knew  not  whither. 
He  had  spent  the  morning  in  feverish  expectancy  of  a 
message  from  Helena  di  Miraval,  had  shut  himself  up 
within  his  apartments  that  the  messenger  of  love  might 
find  him;  but  he  had  tarried  in  vain.  No  message 
came,  and,  almost  beside  himself  at  her  unaccountable 
conduct,  he  had  despatched  a  eunuch  to  the  palace,  where, 
as  he  had  been  informed,  she  resided.  The  Saracen  had 
delivered  the  Lombard's  appeal  into  the  hands  of  Helena's 
tirewoman,  who,  stating  that  her  mistress  was  indis- 
posed, promised  to  place  the  scroll  in  her  hands  and  in- 
quired where  the  reply  might  reach  his  master.  Thus 
with  his  mission  but  half-fulfilled,  the  eunuch  had  re- 
turned to  Khalesa,  and  Ottorino  had  rushed  from  his 
gilded  chamber  as  if  chased  by  demons  of  darkness. 

He  was  not,  however,  to  follow  his  observations  at  his 
own  leisure,  for  he  was  at  once  accosted  by  unwelcome 
intruders  who  broke  in  upon  his  solitude.  The  revellers 
beset  him  in  the  most  varied  shapes.  A  legion  of  homed 
devils  with  hideous  visages  and  flaming  torches  sur- 
rounded him,  imploring  his  leave  to  return  to  hell  in 
order  to  get  out  of  the  noise  and  clatter  of  a  Christian 
festival.  Deities  of  all  the  ancient  and  modern  mythol- 
ogy, known  or  vaguely  guessed  at,  met  and  engaged  in 
mock  disputes  and  ribaldry,  in  which  every  form  of 
religion  was  turned  into  ridicule  by  men  who  at  other 
seasons  were  wrapped  in  superstitious  horrors. 

Hardly  heeding  the  strange  apparitions  which  sprang 
up  and  disappeared  at  intervals,  Ottorino  became  involved, 
he  scarcely  knew  how,  in  the  strange  and  tumultuous 
throng  which  swayed  up  and  down  the  Cassaro.  Wan- 
dering amidst  the  glittering  confusion,  the  Lombard's 
attention  was  suddenly  caught,  with  that  of  many  others. 


xs8  Castel  &el  /Donte 

by  the  approach  of  a  most  singular  and  very  magnificent 
procession. 

Down  the  long  and  palatial  street  came  a  troop  of  per- 
sons in  the  richest  and  most  glaring  Oriental  costumes, 
leaping,  dancing,  and  making  the  air  resound  with  tam- 
bourines, bells,  cymbals,  and  gongs.  They  kept  up  an 
incessant  jingle  and  roar  of  melody.  These  heralded  a 
lady,  garbed  to  represent  the  royal,  licentious,  and  de- 
ceptive Fata  Morgana,  who  was  thus  suitably  attended 
because  in  Italy  all  fairies  were  held  to  be  pagan.  She 
sat  in  a  castle  on  the  back  of  an  elephant,  caparisoned 
with  scarlet  and  gold.  The  castle  was  built  of  little 
squares  and  lozenges  of  burnished  looking-glass  set  in 
silver  frames,  and  its  sparkle  and  glitter  corresponded 
with  the  idea  entertained  of  the  illusive  pomp  of  the  fay. 
The  beautifully  moulded  figure  of  the  enchantress  was 
amply  displayed  in  her  rich  garb  of  gold  lace,  spangled 
with  rare  gems.  Her  hair  was  concealed  by  an  immense 
turban,  and  her  face  by  the  mask  of  a  beautiful  woman. 

"  Viva  Morgana "  resounded  on  every  side  as  the 
strange  procession  approached,  while  the  fay,  distributing 
innumerable  little  tokens  with  which  her  fairy  castle 
seemed  stocked,  conversed  in  a  pretended  Eastern  tongue 
with  the  black  slave  who  guided  her  elephant.  The  slave 
was  arrayed  in  great  splendour  to  represent  the  Caliph  of 
Bagdad,  and  his  face  was  also  concealed  by  a  mask. 
Wielding  a  broad  and  gleaming  sabre,  he  affected 
the  airs  of  a  jealous  Oriental,  and  flourished  it  among 
those  admirers  who  pushed  too  near  the  lady.  But  ever 
and  anon  he  turned  back  and  whispered  to  some  of  the 
maskers  whom  he  seemed  to  select  at  random. 

From  these  very  sig^s  Ottorino  conjectured  little  good 
of  the  fairy,  but  his  interest  increased  with  the  recol- 
lection that  the  only  elephant  in  Palermo  belonged  to 


jfata  ADorgana  159 

Manfred,  a  present  from  the  Sultan  of  Damascus.  In  his 
anxiety  to  ascertain  who  the  lady  might  be,  he  pushed 
eagerly  forward.  As  he  approached,  the  Nubian's  eye 
gleamed  upon  him  from  the  depths  of  his  mask,  and  with 
a  screech  of  joy  he  muttered  some  words  to  the  fairy  in 
a  tone  which  was  drowned  by  the  uproar  of  the  multi- 
tudes. 

The  fairy  immediately  signalled  her  whole  retinue  to 
halt,  and  beckoned  so  pointedly  to  Ottorino  that  he  could 
not  doubt  that  it  was  he  who  was  distinguished  by  her 
summons. 

He  approached  in  a  fever  of  curiosity  and  dread,  fear- 
ful lest  he  should  find  his  worst  suspicions  realized. 

"  What  would  you  with  me,  illustrious  lady  ?  "  said  the 
Lombard,  in  a  voice  whose  tranquil  sternness  strangely 
contrasted,  not  only  with  his  own  overwrought  feelings, 
but  also  with  the  frenzied  clamour  surrounding  him. 

"  Nay  —  what  would  you  with  me,  signor  ?  "  replied 
the  fairy,  in  tones  whose  low,  liquid,  and  perfidious  sweet- 
ness resembled  those  of  a  siren  luring  the  mariner  to 
death.  "  I  am  the  fairy  Fata  Morgana,  all  things  to  all 
men  —  even  what  their  own  desires  would  have !  To  the 
soldier,  glory;  to  the  priest,  dominion;  to  the  poet,  im- 
mortality ;  to  the  lover,  his  mistress ;  to  every  madness 
its  fitting  frenzy.  Name  thou  thine,  signor,  that  it  may 
forthwith  be  gratified." 

"  Nay,  fairy,  since  thou  art  as  fallacious  as  the  waves 
on  which  thou  raisest  thy  translucent  palaces,  so  bright 
without,  so  dismal  within,  I  care  not  to  trust  myself  to 
thy  treacherous  bowers,"  said  the  Lombard.  "  Yet  —  if 
thou  canst  aid  me  in  my  research,  I  will  confess  that  I 
seek  for  one  whom  I  would  not  find." 

"  Then  thou  art  truly  my  lord  and  master,  for  I  have 
come  here  to  choose  a  seraglio  among  all  the  modest 


i6o  Castel  bel  /IDonte 

beauties  of  thy  sex,  and  justly,  methinks,  thou  art  therein 
entitled  to  the  foremost  place;  therefore  mount  and  ac- 
company me  on  my  elephant,  which  already  kneels  of  its 
own  grace  and  understanding." 

The  prodigious  creature  did,  indeed,  at  a  signal  from 
the  Nubian's  wand,  bend  its  massive  knees  to  the  pave- 
ment, and  with  a  huge  yawn  seemed  to  await  the  result 
of  the  conference. 

"  Queen  and  sorceress,"  replied  Ottorino,  "  the  order 
of  all  nature  is  too  strangely  reversed  in  thy  kingdom 
for  me  to  venture  in  it  while  I  still  walk  erect ;  even  Circe 
changed  men  into  swine  ere  she  put  them  in  her  sties. 
Moreover,  the  disappearances  from  thy  seraglio  are  so 
numerous  and  so  tragic  that  it  is  conjectured  by  some 
that  there  is  a  hidden  snake  therein." 

After  having  spoken  these  words,  ringing  with  the 
anguish  of  his  soul,  Ottorino  stared  at  the  fairy  as  if  to 
ascertain  their  effect. 

"And  yet  I  have  never  loved  till  now,"  sighed  the 
Fata  Morgana,  "  else  I  would  long  ago  have  made  a 
charm  to  stiffen  that  green  reptile  —  jealousy!" 

The  words,  spoken  in  low,  plaintive  tones  in  the  voice 
he  loved  so  well,  almost  drove  the  Visconti  to  frenzy. 

"If  thou  hast  never  loved,  then  thou  hast  not  even  a 
base  apology  for  being  the  vile  thing  thou  art,"  he  re- 
turned, severely.  "  Go  on  thy  way,  as  I  will  on  mine  — 
and  may  our  paths  cross  never  again !  " 

"  I  must  seek  those,  then,  who  are  not  so  wise,  or  so 
foolish,  as  to  refuse  the  quaff  of  pleasure  because  other 
lips  have  been  to  the  goblet,"  returned  the  enchantress, 
gaily;  then  with  a  haughty  gesture  she  commanded  the 
Nubian  to  advance,  and  the  procession  moved  on. 

Ottorino  felt  as  if  his  heart  were  crumbling  to  dust, 
and  so  absorbing  was  the  mute  anguish  that  he  fairly 


GO    ON    THY    WAY,    AS    I    WILL    ON    MINE 


jfata  jflDorgana  161 

started  when  he  felt  his  mantle  plucked,  and,  turning,  be- 
held the  Nubian. 

"  Signor  —  believing  your  obduracy  might  relent,  the 
most  puissant  Fata  Morgana  desires  you  to  accept  her 
portrait  in  this  case,"  said  the  African,  producing  an 
exquisitely  chased  gold  medallion,  which  he  handed  to 
the  Visconti,  attentively  watching  him  as  he  examined 
it.  Pressing  a  spring,  the  case  flew  open,  and  Ottorino 
staggered  as  if  he  had  been  dealt  a  deadly  blow. 

"  My  God !  it  is  true,  then  —  it  is  true  !  "  he  cried, 
despairingly,  then,  with  a  glance  so  menacing  that  the 
Nubian  involuntarily  receded  a  step  or  two,  he  hurled  the 
medallion  with  such  force  to  the  ground  that  it  broke  into 
countless  fragments. 

"  Return  to  her  who  has  sent  thee,  and  tell  her  what 
thou  hast  seen,"  and  without  vouchsafing  him  another 
word  he  turned  his  back  upon  the  Nubian,  while  the 
groups  which  surrounded  them  laughed  and  jeered,  be- 
lieving the  whole  to  be  a  preconcerted  scene. 

Summoning  all  his  resolutions  not  to  let  the  fearful 
revelation  overcome  him,  Ottorino  continued  aimlessly 
upon  his  way.  It  would  have  been  scarcely  possible  to 
analyze  the  confusion  of  emotions  which  filled  the  Vis- 
conti's  heart,  —  fury,  anger,  disdain,  jealousy,  hate,  and 
love.  Fevered  with  agitation  and  despair,  he  endeavoured 
to  avoid  the  surging  crowds.  Only  one  resolution  stood 
out  bold  and  unshaken  in  the  wild  chaos  of  anguish  and 
wrath  which  upheaved  his  soul,  the  resolve  to  return  to 
his  Northern  lakes  and  to  forget  the  brief  and  illusive 
dream  of  happiness.  Forget  —  forget !  When  the  soul 
forgets  that  there  has  been  a  yesterday,  that  there  will 
be  a  to-morrow  —  then  and  not  until  then  is  f orgetf ulness 
complete. 

How  he  had  loved  her !    Loved  as  he  could  never,  never 


i6a  Castel  t)el  /iDonte 

love  again!  He  had  believed  Helena's  confession  to  be 
as  sincere  as  his  own,  and  now  her  licentious  coquetry 
in  th€  character  of  the  royal  sorceress  confirmed  the  worst 
rumours  and  gave  grounds  for  even  darker  accusations. 

Suddenly,  as  the  vesper-bells  of  remote  cloisters  chimed 
fitfully  above  the  roar  of  a  tempest,  as  their  peaceful 
clangour,  though  dissipated,  hovered  with  faint  echoes  on 
the  storm-rent  air,  so  her  warning  in  that  never-to-be- 
forgotten  night  at  Favara  rang  through  his  heart :  "If 
once  you  doubt,  we  are  both  lost  —  you  and  I." 

With  an  impatient  gesture  he  relegated  the  speech  to 
the  dead,  for  at  that  precise  moment  the  scene  in  the 
wilds  of  Monte  Pellegrino  rose  before  him.  The  mental 
agonies  of  the  Dominican  —  might  they  not  be  the  viper's 
stings  of  secret  remorse?  There  were  moments  in  his 
meditation  when  he  blamed  himself  for  not  having  ac- 
cepted the  fay's  invitation,  that  he  might  have  ascer- 
tained her  full  depravity  and  humbled  her  with  a  scorn 
and  refusal,  which,  if  aught  could,  would  strike  shame 
and  dismay  into  her  haughty  soul.  It  did  not  occur  to 
Ottorino  that  the  experiment  might  have  had  its  perils. 

It  was  now  drawing  toward  sunset,  and  the  deepening 
purple  of  the  sky  mellowed  the  glaring  tints  into  an 
almost  bewildering  richness.  The  moon  gleamed  pale 
as  an  alabaster  lamp  in  the  still  sun-ruled  heavens,  and 
the  light  trembled  luminously  on  the  waters  of  the  foun- 
tains. Stung  to  his  soul  and  rankling  with  the  darts  of 
those  poisoned  wasps  of  passion,  the  Lombard  was  in  a 
most  unsociable  mood.  But  on  entering  an  avenue  of 
cypress-trees  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the 
Dominican.  The  pale  and  haggard  countenance  of  the 
monk  bore  traces  of  severest  mental  agony.  In  his 
present  frame  of  mind  this  kindled  the  Visconti's  con- 
tempt instead  of  pity,  and  the  salutation  was  sufficiently 


jfata  /l>ordana  163 

cold  on  both  sides.  After  a  few  preliminary  remarks,  the 
Dominican  stated  that  he  felt  bound  in  return  for  a  kind- 
ness, the  nature  of  which  he  left  to  Ottorino's  surmise, 
to  inform  the  latter  that  his  life  ran  an  hourly  risk  in 
Palermo,  as  he  had  provoked  the  vengeance  of  one  whom 
nothing  but  blood  could  appease. 

"  I  fear,  and  not  without  reason,"  concluded  the  friar, 
"  that  an  insult  so  glaring  as  the  public  scorn  to  which 
you  have  subjected  the  proudest  lady  in  Palermo  has 
exasperated  her  to  that  pass  at  which  her  smiling  lips 
have  ever  been  found  most  deadly." 

"  Proud  —  deadly !  "  exclaimed  Ottorino.  "But  I 
deem  the  lady  is  at  present  too  much  absorbed  in  peopling 
her  seraglio  to  give  immediate  attention  to  the  horrors 
which  are  said  to  be  her  customary  pastime." 

"  Be  it  so,  since  thou  wilt  not  listen  to  the  voice  of  the 
charmer,  charm  he  ever  so  wisely,"  replied  the  friar,  after 
a  pause.  "  But  if  thou  meetest  with  some  misfortune,  the 
blame  is  not  with  me,  nor  canst  thou  altogether  doubt  the 
hand  from  whence  it  comes." 

Ottorino  made  no  reply,  but  after  the  Dominican  had 
continued  on  his  way,  he  dwelt  with  continually  deepen- 
ing wrath  and  pain  on  the  probability  that  Helena  ab- 
horred him,  and  that  her  momentary  liking  had  changed 
into  a  desire  for  revenge.  Yet  in  spite  of  the  threats 
held  out  to  him,  in  spite  of  his  own  fatigue  and  disgust, 
the  Visconti  found  himself  again  borne  along  on  the 
turbulent  waves  of  the  carnival,  surrounded  by  tumul- 
tuous revellers,  who,  laughing,  gibbering,  brawling  in  all 
the  effervescence  of  boundless  delight,  swarmed  on  their 
way  toward  the  groves  by  the  sea. 


CHAPTER   II. 


THE   MAD   GIRL 


The  sunlight  had  flooded  with  its  parting  rays  the 
Conca  d'Oro  when  Ottorino  reached  the  myrtle  and 
cypress  groves,  near  the  entrance  to  the  Norman  palaces 
of  Roger  and  William.  The  Lombard  followed  a  narrow, 
winding  path,  at  times  hardly  discernible  owing  to  the 
overgrowth  of  mosses  and  grass,  until  he  found  himself 
before  a  dilapidated  building,  which,  from  its  size  and 
shape,  was  evidently  a  monastery,  hidden  in  the  green  of 
the  vale.  But  if  it  ever  had  been  such,  it  was  now  de- 
serted. The  building,  with  its  architraves  and  high  arched 
windows,  was  a  quaint  mixture  of  the  Arabo-Norman 
style,  so  common  to  the  Sicilian  architecture  of  that 
period.  An  old,  quaintly  carved  door  stood  ajar,  but  not 
a  sound  of  life  broke  the  stillness. 

At  the  end  of  a  narrow  lane,  bordered  by  vineyards 
and  overshadowed  by  huge  plane-trees,  around  whose 
gigantic  trunks  grapevines  and  evergreens  twined  their 
tiny  arms,  Ottorino  beheld  a  girlish  figure.  The  girl 
stared  motionless  down  the  lane,  then,  uttering  a  wild, 
piercing  cry,  she  disappeared  so  suddenly  that  for  some 
moments  he  wondered  if  he  had  waked  from  a  dream 
and  the  apparition  was  part  thereof,  or  if  he  had  really 
seen  it. 

Something  in  the  terrified  outcry  of  the  creature  before 

164 


Ube  Oba^  Girl  i^s 

him  confirmed  the  Visconti's  belief  that  he  had  seen  a 
being  of  flesh  and  blood.  But  going  into  the  dense  copse 
in  which  the  girl  had  disappeared,  he  looked  in  vain  for 
her  retreating  form. 

Fully  convinced  that  the  maiden,  whoever  she  may 
have  been,  must  have  sought  refuge  in  this  by  no  means 
inviting  retreat,  and  apprehensive  lest  some  dark  mystery 
encompass  so  unusual  an  occurrence,  the  Visconti  ap- 
proached the  low  balcony  which  surrounded  the  house. 
This  balcony  led  into  a  chamber  almost  on  a  level  with 
it,  a  large  but  ruinously  dilapidated  apartment,  into  which 
the  doors  of  a  suite  of  smaller  rooms  opened,  all  appar- 
ently in  similar  condition.  The  few  articles  of  furniture 
were  in  a  state  of  mouldering  decay,  showing  that  they 
had  long  been  out  of  use.  The  silence  in  these  chambers 
was  so  deep  that  after  a  moment's  intent  listening  Otto- 
rino  concluded  that  the  fugitive  had  not  taken  refuge 
in  any  of  them.  As  he  investigated  more  closely,  he  saw 
the  dark,  massive  posts  of  a  staircase,  which  probably 
descended  into  an  inhabited  part  of  the  house.  On  ap- 
proaching, he  perceived  that  the  descent  was  abrupt  and 
steep  as  a  ladder,  with  scarcely  room  for  the  action  of 
the  limbs.  It  was  necessary  to  descend  backwards,  and, 
while  brave  and  fearless,  Ottorino  yet  hesitated  before  the 
alternative  of  returning  or  adopting  such  a  means  of 
descent,  uncertain  as  he  was  of  what  might  await  him 
below,  not  knowing  into  what  sort  of  abode  he  was 
penetrating.  But  hearing  no  sound  from  below,  and 
getting  no  reply  from  his  halloos,  anxiety  and  curiosity 
alike  urged  him  on.  He  looked  around  for  some  material 
with  which  to  throw  light  into  the  abysmal  darkness,  and 
at  last  discovered  the  fragments  of  a  torch,  the  appear- 
ance of  which  convinced  him  that  it  was  not  so  long  ago 
since  it  had  been  lighted.    Striking  a  light  with  two  flint- 


t$6  Castel  &el  /©onte 

stones  he  found  near  by,  he  boldly  began  the  descent  in 
quest  of  the  strange  apparition  which  had  so  mysteriously 
fled  before  his  approach. 

Descending,  he  soon  found  the  wall  behind  breaking 
off,  and,  unwilling  to  run  the  chances  with  his  back  turned 
and  arms  powerless,  he  dropped  the  remainder  of  the 
steps.  He  had  brushed  his  torch  so  rudely  in  the  scram- 
ble of  the  fall  that  it  was  some  moments  before  he  could 
fan  it  into  a  light  sufficiently  strong  to  second  his  in- 
vestigation. What  he  then  saw  confirmed  the  suspicions 
and  conjectures  which  he  had  formed  from  the  scent  of 
drugs  and  herbs,  and  it  was  evident  that  he  was  in  the 
abode  of  an  alchemist,  to  whom  this  habitation,  formerly 
dedicated  to  different  purposes,  now  belonged.  Dusty 
jars,  phials  emblazoned  with  mystic  characters,  stuffed 
lizards,  a  mummy,  serpents,  and  various  strange  animals 
preserved  in  liquids,  many  of  them  dried  and  shrivelled, 
a  rusty  copper  basin,  cauterizing-irons,  and  other  imple- 
ments of  surgery,  filled  the  room.  A  leaden  table,  mas- 
sive and  shapeless  as  a  butcher's  block  and  covered  with 
cabalistical  designs  and  figures,  from  which  to  calculate 
the  favourable  instant  of  swallowing  medicines  or  per- 
forming operations,  was  in  the  centre  of  the  room.  The 
dusty  and  neglected  aspect  of  the  whole  pharmacy  indi- 
cated that  the  owner  either  had  not  many  calls  on  his  skill, 
or  followed  a  profession  more  lucrative.  No  living  soul 
appeared,  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  exit  save  by  a 
strongly  barred  door  and  a  casement  closed  with  iron 
panels.  After  a  glance  over  the  medicinal  wares,  the 
Visconti  concluded  that  the  object  of  his  search,  if  she 
was  in  this  dismal  abode,  must  have  remained  above.  In 
this  belief  he  was  about  to  remount  the  stairs,  when  he 
distinctly  heard  what  seemed  to  him  a  sob  or  sigh  from 
beneath  the  spot  where  he  stood.    Glancing  around,  he 


Ube  /Cat)  Girl  167 

perceived  a  pale  glimmer  in  a  large  chimneyplace  behind, 
though  there  was  assuredly  no  fire  in  it.  Stumbling  in 
his  haste  over  some  old  crucibles,  he  was  astonished  to 
find  that  the  light  fell  from  what  appeared  to  be  an  open 
trap-door  in  the  back  wall  of  the  -chimney.  The  light 
revealed  a  flight  of  narrow  stairs. 

More  than  ever  piqued  by  curiosity,  and  insensible  to 
the  fears  which  would  have  restrained  most  men  from 
gratifying  the  former  under  such  conditions,  Ottorino 
started  to  climb  the  steps,  taking  only  the  precaution  of 
leaving  his  torch  alight,  and  sticking  it  in  one  of  the 
numerous  cracks  between  the  stones  of  the  chimney. 

Stooping  nearly  double  in  order  to  enter  the  trap-door, 
he  perceived  a  broader  flight  of  stairs  down  the  in- 
side of  a  wall.  At  the  right  a  dark  chamber  extended, 
dimly  lighted  by  some  embers  glowing  on  the  opposite 
hearth.  This  feeble  radiance  flickered  up  occasionally, 
and  showed  that  the  vault  —  for  it  was  little  better  — 
was  filled  with  strange  heaps  of  lumber,  like  the  contents 
of  a  cave  in  which  wreckers  had  stowed  the  pillage  of  a 
drowned  armada.  But  the  Visconti's  attention  was  im- 
mediately absorbed  by  the  apparition  of  a  young  maiden 
whose  Oriental  features  betokened  her  to  be  of  Moorish 
or  Saracenic  descent.  She  was  crouching  near  the  hearth 
and  listening  with  head  erect,  like  a  deer  in  covert.  Her 
expression  was  a  strange  mixture  of  reason  and  insanity, 
and  there  was  such  a  degree  of  wildness  and  vacuity  in 
her  eyes  that  Ottorino  involuntarily  paused  to  reflect 
whether  he  should  continue  upon  his  course  or  retreat. 

Uncertain  as  to  the  effect  which  his  appearance  might 
produce,  the  Visconti  lingered  on  the  summit  of  the 
stairs.  But  during  that  pause  a  momentary  gleam  lighted 
up  his  black  garb,  and  the  girl  perceived  him.  Instantly 
she  sprang  up  and  uttered  a  cry  of  absolute  despair. 


iW  Castel  &el  Obontc 

There  was  now  but  a  choice  of  evils,  and  Ottorino  pre- 
ferred that  of  descending  slowly  into  the  vault,  at  the 
same  time  exhorting  the  frightened  girl  not  to  be  alarmed, 
announcing  that  his  intentions  were  merely  to  ascertain 
that  she  was  threatened  with  no  danger  from  without. 

The  first  tones  of  Ottorino's  voice  seemed  to  reassure 
her,  and,  looking  up,  she  suddenly  changed  her  cries  into 
a  wild  peal  of  laughter,  clasped  her  hands  as  if  in  ecstasy, 
and  rushed  to  meet  him.  As  suddenly,  however,  she 
paused,  staring  at  him  in  amazement,  as  if  struck  by  his 
lofty  stature  or  his  dark  armour. 

Ottorino's  eyes  in  turn  scanned  the  form  of  the  girl 
before  him.  Her  face  and  form  might  have  been  taken 
for  a  perfect  model  of  Oriental  beauty  but  for  the  pallid 
hues  which  overspread  the  dark  tints  of  her  complexion, 
and  the  drooping  and  meagre  lines  of  the  figure,  other- 
wise so  finely  moulded.  The  girl  was  attired  in  a  dusty 
and  disordered  garb,  originally  of  fine  silk,  but  so  curi- 
ously ornamented  with  ribbons,  shreds  of  different  colours, 
and  what  appeared  to  be  gems  of  purest  water,  that  the 
Visconti  at  first  fancied  that  he  beheld  one  of  those  un- 
happy outcasts  put  forth  to  attract  licentious  observation 
and  to  lure  travellers  into  their  haunts  for  the  purpose  of 
enriching  themselves.  Her  countenance,  young,  wasted, 
and  pallid,  strengthened  this  impression,  but  a  further  con- 
sideration at  least  staggered  it.  The  vacant  depths  of  her 
eyes,  the  unmeaning  smile  with  which  she  watched  the 
advancing  steps  of  the  stranger,  the  fantastic  richness  of 
her  garniture,  exceeding  in  glare  and  contrast  every 
vagary  even  of  Moorish  fancy,  suggested  to  the  Visconti 
characteristics  of  insanity.  But  perhaps  it  was  one  of 
those  ornaments,  a  chain  of  coins  twisted  in  the  black, 
disordered  hair,  which  chiefly  attracted  his  attention,  and 
yet  he  knew  not  at  the  time  why  he  noticed  it  at  all. 


XTbe  HDat)  Girl  169 

"  But  is  it  really  you  ? "  the  girl  exclaimed,  after  a 
moment's  profound  silence.  "  It  is  long,  indeed,  since 
we  have  met ;  but  you  are  so  tall,  or  are  you  —  what  are 
you?" 

"  I  am  the  knight  you  met  in  the  arbour,"  replied 
Ottorino,  in  his  gentlest  tones,  in  order  not  to  arouse  her 
fright.  "  I  came  hither  to  see  that  no  harm  had  befallen 
you,  as  your  sudden  flight  led  me  to  fear." 

"  No,  no,  no !  It  is  not  he !  He  will  never  come  again," 
softly  murmured  the  girl  to  herself.  "And  yet  he  had 
a  voice  very  much  like  yours,  so  full  of  that  silvery  ring 
that  spoke  to  my  heart.  Do  not  mock  me,  Enrico !  Why 
needed  you  to  come  in  this  disguise?  For  indeed,  be- 
loved, I  will  not  reproach  you,  never  tell  you  what  I  have 
thought  of  your  long  absence  and  how  I  have  wept  my 
brain  so  dry  that  I  can  never,  never  weep  again !  Speak, 
dearest,  speak!  You  need  not  think  the  wizard  will  sus- 
pect —  he  flew  away  at  early  dawn !  I  heard  his  wings 
rustle  over  the  cypress-trees.  And  the  witches  —  they 
are  gone,  too;  the  black  he-goat  pulled  them  away,  he 
with  the  long  horns  and  eyes  like  glowing  coals.  And 
they  tell  me  you  are  gone,  too,  and  dead,  —  nay,  if  you 
will  not  answer  me  I  will  fetch  a  light  and  look  into 
your  face;  I  shall  know  it,  if  it  be  ever  so  pale,  —  but 
no,  no,  no !    He  is  dead  —  dead  —  dead !  " 

"  Enrico !  "  the  Visconti  repeated  to  himself  with  a 
start.  It  was  the  name  of  the  emperor's  murdered  son. 
Was  there  another,  or  stood  he  at  the  brink  of  the  dark 
mystery  which  had  so  long  baffled  the  empire  ? 

Deep  and  intense  was  the  pause  while  the  Moorish  girl, 
clinging  with  the  tenacity  of  the  mind  diseased  to  its 
favourite  visions,  hurried  to  the  hearth,  and,  after  groping 
for  some  moments,  lighted  a  lamp  shaped  like  a  twisted 


I70  Castel  &el  /Donte 

dragon,  and  returned  with  great  eagerness  to  the  Vis- 
conti. 

Quietly  awaiting  the  result  of  her  scrutiny,  Ottorino 
stood  in  silence  and  suffered  her  to  survey  him  from  head 
to  foot.  But  after  gazing  long  and  wistfully  into  his 
face,  the  girl  shook  her  head,  and  with  a  deep  sigh  set 
the  lamp  down. 

"  You  see  I  am  not  he  —  but  for  whom  did  you  mis- 
take me  and  what  is  your  name  ?  "  said  Ottorino,  gently, 
but  perhaps  too  earnestly,  for  the  girl  looked  at  him  with 
sudden  suspicion  and  alarm. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  him  ?  To  betray  him  to  the 
scarlet  man  with  the  burning  eyes  and  the  ashen  face  ?  " 
she  said,  bitterly,  adding  with  a  wild,  triumphant  laugh : 

"  But  you  cannot !  I  have  hidden  him  too  well  for 
any  of  you  to  find  him,  nor  shall  you  touch  him  until 
you  have  torn  out  my  heart,  for  I  will  shriek  and  shriek 
until  your  God  has  heard  as  well  as  Allah.  And  he  is 
good  and  just  and  merciful,  or  you  Christians  —  you 
Christians  —  ah  !   he  is  dead  —  dead  —  dead  !  " 

She  rested  her  chin  in  her  hand  and  seemed  endeavour- 
ing to  recall  the  words  of  some  one,  while  Ottorino's 
mind  was  occupied  with  the  expression  she  had  uttered 
relating  to  the  scarlet  man. 

"  What  is  peace  ? "  murmured  the  girl,  probably  re- 
ferring to  some  disconnected  train  of  thought  which 
fluttered  through  her  disordered  brain.  "  Is  it  death  ? 
For  when  he  was  dead,  with  all  those  cruel  stabs,  how 
calm  he  lay !  " 

There  was  a  brief  pause,  during  which  the  Moorish 
girl  looked  vacantly  at  the  knight. 

"  Were  you  decked  out  as  gaily  as  now  when  the 
scarlet  man  was  here  ?  "  he  said  at  last,  with  hesitation. 

"  It  was  not  here,  you  know,  but  in  the  chamber  above; 


Ube  £fba^  Girl  «7« 

they  brought  him  here  too,  but  it  was  in  my  dream," 
replied  the  girl.  "  Indeed,  —  it  was  a  dreadful  dream. 
But  I  was  much  finer  than  I  am  now,  for  they  all  loved 
me  then  and  thought  pearls  and  gems  too  mean  for  me 
to  wear,  and  I  had  no  delight  but  to  dress  myself  in 
the  prettiest  things  and  to  braid  my  hair  when  I  knew 
he  was  coming." 

"  And  was  your  dream  so  sad  ?  I  pray  you  tell  it  to  me, 
whatever  your  name  may  be,  for  you  see  I  am  of  a  melan- 
choly turn  of  mind,  and  I  love  to  hear  sad  tales,"  said 
the  Lombard. 

"  Call  me  Leila,  —  Leila,  that  is  what  he  used  to  call 
me.  But  I  may  not  tell  it  to  you,  nor  to  any  one  else; 
the  witches  will  murder  me,"  replied  the  girl.  "  But  it 
was  very  horrible!  To  hear  the  blood  go  drop,  drop, 
drop,  —  to  see  them  all  run  in  upon  him  with  their  long, 
keen  poniards  and  press  them  into  his  poor  quivering 
flesh,  while  thousands  and  thousands  of  voices  —  oh, 
how  I  shrieked,  how  I  shrieked  —  murder  —  murder  — 
murder!  Until  the  roof  rang  like  the  clatter  of  hoofs 
at  the  tournament,  where  I  saw  him  first.  But  my  voice 
died  in  my  throat,  —  my  voice  would  not  sound.  Knight, 
you  are  wearing  a  beggar's  harness,  compared  to  him  that 
day.  I  stole  out  when  they  were  busy  and  the  embers 
flaming,  but  to  see  them  lift  him  up  so  drenched  in 
blood  that  it  ran  down  his  bright,  golden  hair,  —  for  when 
he  was  dead  he  could  not  keep  his  head  up,  —  I  re- 
member." 

"  But  who  was  your  Enrico,  who  wore  such  noble 
armour?  And  did  you  dream  that  he  was  murdered 
here  and  by  your  people  ?  "  said  the  Visconti,  in  care- 
less tones,  which  he  thought  would  disarm  the  poor 
mad  girl's  suspicions. 

"  No,  —  it  was  all  a  dream,  and  I  will  some  day  be 


i7«  castel  bcl  /Route 

punished  for  remembering  it,"  said  the  girl,  with  pro- 
found sadness,  and  tears  trickled  fast  but  unheeded  down 
her  pale,  wan  face,  as  she  seemed  to  sink  into  a  puzzled 
reverie. 

The  Visconti  awaited  the  result  in  silence,  hoping  that 
some  clearer  revelation  might  rise  in  her  chaotic  mem- 
ory. But  suddenly  she  raised  her  eyes,  wiped  the  tears 
away,  and  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  of  mingled 
suspicion  and  dread. 

"  But  you  are  not  like  the  serpent,"  she  faltered,  at 
length,  "  that  came  and  questioned  me  with  his  oily 
tongue,  and  whispered  lies  of  him  and  said  he  loved 
another  better  far,  and  challenged  me  to  win  him  from 
his  appointment  with  her  that  very  night ;  but  it  was  only 
one  of  the  wizard's  demons,  you  must  know,  for  when 
he  came  they  murdered  him." 

"  Loved  another  —  and  who  was  she  ?  What  did  men 
call  her?" 

"  Oh,  she  was  so  beautiful  that  indeed  it  was  a  scor- 
pion in  my  breast  to  hear  it  said.  Have  you  not,  come 
from  what  land  you  will,  heard  of  her  unrivalled  beauty  ?  " 

"  But  her  name,  Leila  —  her  name,  whom  your  Enrico 
preferred  to  you !  " 

"  No,  no,  no !  'Tis  false !  He  came,  he  came !  " 
shrieked  the  girl,  her  eyes  flashing  through  her  tears. 
"  You  are  a  devil,  too,  to  belie  him  thus,  for  when  I  told 
him  what  the  serpent  visage  said  —  " 

"  Ay,  —  what  did  he  answer  then  ?  " 

*'  Hush,  did  you  not  hear  a  step  ? "  interrupted  the 
girl,  staring  wildly  and  tossing  back  her  black  hair  to 
listen. 

"  Embers  sinking  upon  the  hearth.  But  tell  me,  Leila, 
what  said  he  when  you  did  upbraid  him  with  his  in- 
constancy ? " 


xrbe  /lDa&  Girl  173 

"That  was  the  very  way  they  came!  I  heard  them 
creeping  up  the  stairs  and  whispering,  and  thought  it 
was  but  the  wind,"  replied  the  girl,  raising  her  slender 
finger  with  a  wildly  startled  look.  "  But  you  are  not 
asleep,  as  he  was.  And  he  looked  so  beautiful  in  his 
sleep  that  it  ever  grieved  me  to  waken  him  when  the 
pale  dawn  looked  in  through  the  windows;  though  I 
know  the  witches  would  have  killed  him  had  they  found 
him  there." 

"  But  what  said  he  to  your  gentle  jealousies,  fair  Leila? 
Did  he  smile  ? "  reiterated  Ottorino,  with  singular  perti- 
nacity. 

"  Nay,  —  I  knew  not  till  then  that  he  could  look  so 
terrible,  and  he  swore  that  he  would  slay  the  fiend  who 
told  me  so,  if  I  could  show  him  who  he  was.  But  even 
as  he  spoke  —  hark!  There  are  muffled  feet  coming  up 
the  stairs." 

"  We  are  below  stairs  here,  remember,  poor  Leila," 
said  the  Visconti,  with  deep  pity  in  his  tones.  "  But  who 
was  this  Enrico  of  yours,  that  he  boasted  of  such  power 
over  life  and  death?  Some  great  lord,  doubtless  —  was 
he  one  of  the  Geracci,  or  the  Corvaja,  or  a  knight  of  the 
empire  ?  " 

"  Not  the  proudest  knight  in  the  king's  court  was 
worthy  to  hold  my  Enrico's  stirrups,"  returned  the 
Moorish  girl,  with  enthusiasm.  "  He  was  so  good,  so 
beautiful,  so  brave,  and  when  he  looked  into  my  eyes 
my  soul  dissolved  in  happiness.  But  I  dreamed  of  him 
long,  long  before  I  saw  him,  and  there  was  no  joy  for 
me  when  I  saw  him  not.  Yet  it  was  all  a  dream,  else, 
being  so  great  a  lord,  why  did  he  never  tell  me  more  of 
his  name  than  Enrico?  But  what  needed  I  to  know 
more  ? "  she  continued,  after  a  pause.  "  He  was  himself 
—  even  if  he  had  no  name  at  all !  " 


174  Castel  &el  /Donte 

"  But  if  you  did  love  him  so,  Leila,  would  you  not 
revenge  his  cruel  murder  ?  "  said  Ottorino.  "  Does  it 
not  darken  the  sunshine  to  you  when  you  see  those  who 
were  his  assassins  smiling-  at  one  another  with  the  sweet 
recollection  of  their  bloody  vengeance  ?  " 

"  Nay,  they  were  demons  in  masks  raised  by  the 
wizard,"  said  the  girl,  musingly.  "  He  has  flown  away 
to  meet  the  dark  spirits  on  Mount  Eblis.  They  were 
demons,  I  tell  you,  —  all  but  one,  —  and  Enrico  tore  the 
mask  from  his  face  to  show  me  how  it  had  turned  to 
palest  ashes,  paler  than  the  hues  of  a  pine- wood  fire  when 
the  morning  shines  upon  it." 

'"But  that  one  —  that  one!"  exclaimed  the  Visconti, 
impatiently.  "  Were  you  to  behold  his  face  again  — 
surely  you  have  not  forgotten  that  one  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you  again  they  were  all  devils,  raised  from  the 
night  of  death  to  tear  him  to  pieces,  for  they  laughed 
and  held  me  while  it  was  all  done,"  returned  the  girl, 
pettishly,  watching  her  interrogator  with  a  vacant  sort 
of  curiosity,  and  carelessly  weaving  into  ringlets  her 
long  black  hair. 

"  But  after  they  killed  him,  what  did  they  with  the 
gashed  body  ? "  Ottorino  returned,  after  a  moment's 
musing. 

"  Oh,  I  will  show  you  very  soon,  —  I  found  out  the 
trick  when  it  was  too  late,"  Leila  replied,  with  sudden 
vivacity,  darting  toward  the  massive  wardrobe  elab- 
orately welded  with  brass,  which  occupied  a  corner  of 
the  dismal  chamber.  The  girl  then  pulled  a  chain  which 
raised  an  iron  bolt,  and  by  the  light  of  the  lamp  which 
she  hastened  to  bring  Ottorino  saw  with  amazement  that 
a  stream  of  water  flowed  past  beneath  the  house. 

"  And  whither  flows  this   dark  stream  ? "  he  asked. 


Ube  /»a&  Girl  i7S 

looking  up  both  ways  and  seeing  that  the  covered  way 
extended  without  apparent  exit  on  either  side. 

"  Only  the  rats  know  that,  and  the  Moors,"  replied 
the  girl,  with  a  smile  of  simple  cunning,  as  if  she  had 
discovered  and  were  baffling  some  intended  trick. 

"  Hear  me,  Leila,"  said  the  Visconti,  a  thought  occur- 
ring to  him.  "  You  see,  my  arm  is  strong.  You  are  but 
fooled  into  the  belief  that  demons  slew  your  beautiful 
lover,  —  some  rival  among  the  Christians  has  slain  him, 
perchance  even  for  the  love  of  that  fair  lady  of  whom 
you  were  told.  Now,  if  you  will  hold  yourself  ready  to 
go  with  me  yonder  to  the  city,  and  if  amidst  all  the 
crowds  you  can  or  will  point  out  to  me  that  one  who  slew 
your  lover,  —  I  swear  to  you  by  your  God  and  mine  that 
I  will  avenge  him  so  that  even  you  shall  cry  out 
'  Enough ! '  " 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  I  cannot  see  them ;  I  go  to  no  feasts,  and  it  is  a  long 
time  since  I  have  seen  the  city,  —  they  will  not  let  me 
go.  I  can  see  the  cupolas  and  the  spires  and  the  belfries 
—  but  the  witches,  you  know ! "  she  replied,  with  evi- 
dently startled  attention.  "  And  if  I  stir  out  of  the  house 
they  will  kill  me  as  they  killed  him,"  the  girl  continued, 
with  a  deep  sigh.  "  They  say  I  am  crazed,  and  must 
not  even  stir  as  far  as  yon  tall  pine-tree;  I  may  not 
even  show  my  eyes  to  the  world,  which  were  brighter 
far  before  I  wept  them  away." 

"  But  if  you  are  crazed,  my  girl,  —  if  they  say  you  are, 
it  is  the  wont  of  madness  to  love  wandering,  and  that 
may  plead  your  apology  if  even  those  who  guard  you 
discover  that  you  have  flown,"  expostulated  the  Lombard. 

"  Hi,  hi,  hi,  hi !  But  how  folk  would  laugh  to  see  the 
Christian  knight  and  the  Moorish  girl  together,  and  hoot 
at  me  and  stone  us  both  —  for  so  Enrico  said,"  replied 


176  Castel  t)el  /iDonte 

the  g^rl,  with  a  faint,  hysteric  giggle,  stopped  by  a 
veritable  shower  of  tears,  which  ran  through  her  fingers 
while  she  covered  her  face  with  both  hands.  So  piteous 
were  her  grief  and  her  sobs  that  the  knight,  softly  caress- 
ing the  poor,  dark-haired  girl,  eventually  succeeded  in 
calming  her  perturbed  spirit. 

"  But  no  one  will  note  us  in  the  confusion  of  the  city, 
my  gentle  Leila,"  he  said.  "  And  if  they  should,  it  is  the 
office  and  duty  of  every  true  knight  to  shield  and  succour 
all  women,  be  their  nation  or  their  creed  what  it  has 
pleased  the  Almighty  God  to  make  it." 

"And  will  you  indeed  with  your  strong  arm  avenge 
Enrico?"  Leila  replied,  hurriedly.  "For  it  is  he  I  was 
looking  for  in  the  arbour." 

"  Enrico,"  repeated  the  knight,  as  if  struck  at  this 
reversion  of  an  obstinate  idea. 

"  Yes ;  for  I  said  in  my  heart,  he  will  come  and  see 
me  and  remember  what  we  have  spoken  to  each  other, 
and  then  he  must  needs  take  pity  on  me ;  at  least  he  will 
tell  me  why  he  despises  the  poor  girl  that  loves  him  so 
much  that  he  never  even  said,  '  Leila,  I  am  weary  of 
thee,'  "  said  the  Moorish  girl,  mournfully.  "  Why  should 
he  not  even  tell  me  why  he  scorned  me  —  why  he  never 
wished  to  see  me  again?  Perchance  they  have  told  him 
lies  of  me,  as  they  will  ever  of  poor  souls  who  love  so 
much  that  they  know  not  how  to  hide  it;  but  then,  it 
needs  only  a  word  to  set  all  right  again  when  truth  is 
listened  to." 

"Wherefore,  then,  will  you  not  go  with  me  and  seek 
him  out  ? "  said  Ottorino,  clinging  to  this  new  idea. 
"  How  can  you  hope  to  see  him  and  tell  him  your  truths 
penned  up  in  this  dark  prison  where  he  never  comes  ?  " 

Leila  looked  at  her  adviser  with  a  sort  of  wondering 


Uhc  /»a&  <5irl  177 

doubt,  but  suddenly,  her  eyes  and  features  kindling  with 
rage,  she  cried  out: 

"  Devil !  I  know  you  now !  You  are  he  who  came 
before  as  the  leaden-visaged  Spanish  liar,  for  all  you  are 
so  changed !  They  have  sent  you  to  find  out  where 
Enrico  is,  —  and  then  my  dream  will  all  come  true." 

Confounded  with  this  new  turn,  Ottorino  stood  for 
some  moments  in  irresolute  silence,  scarcely  noticing  a 
slight  murmur,  which  immediately  attracted  the  attention 
of  the  girl. 

"  They  come  —  they  come ! "  she  whispered,  in  a 
breathless  undertone,  startled  with  some  degree  of  sane 
recollection.  "  Fly  —  fly  —  or  we  shall  both  be  mur- 
dered ! " 

Whisperings  of  several  voices  and  sounds  as  of  un- 
locking the  door  of  the  shop  were  distinctly  audible,  and 
brave  as  the  Lombard  was,  he  was  by  no  means  insensible 
to  the  dangers  of  being  surrounded  by  numbers  under 
circumstances  which  would  rouse  the  passions  of  the 
people,  who,  if  they  thought  him  an  enemy,  would  use 
every  effort  at  his  destruction. 

"  Whither  does  this  strange  passage  lead  ?  "  Ottorino 
asked  of  Leila,  after  a  brief  pause. 

"  To  the  marshes ! "  replied  the  girl,  wringing  her 
hands.  "  They  come  —  they  come !  They  will  not  be- 
lieve us  —  they  will  murder  you  —  and  call  me  vile  names 
—  follow  the  stream  —  the  stream  —  fly  —  fly !  " 

"  I  will  only  depart  on  condition  that  you  give  me  the 
promise  to  see  me  again  and  come  with  me  to  the  city," 
returned  the  Visconti. 

"  Yes  —  yes  —  I  will  wait  for  you  here  and  go  with 
you,  even  if  they  kill  me,  indeed  —  indeed  —  I  swear  it," 
said  the  girl,  endeavouring  with  her  feeble  force  to  draw 
him  to  the  exit. 


178  Castel  &el  ^onte 

"  Swear  to  me  by  all  your  hopes  of  again  seeing  your 
lover  —  your  Enrico  —  in  heaven  or  on  earth,"  insisted 
Ottorino,  hastening  his  own  movements  toward  the  door. 

"  I  swear  —  I  swear !  " 

"  But  you  will  forget !  Promise  me  not  once  to  look 
upon  this  strange  portal  without  remembering  your 
pledge." 

"  I  will  —  I  will !  It  is  not  deep,"  Leila  exclaimed,  as 
Ottorino  took  the  lamp  and  threw  its  radiance  on  the 
rapid  waters  of  the  channel.    "  On  —  on !  " 

The  Lombard  indeed  hesitated  in  descending  the  two 
or  three  steps  which  led  to  the  channel,  for  a  momentary 
suspicion  of  treachery  flashed  through  his  mind  when  he 
glanced  down  the  watery  way.  But  the  anxious  solicitude 
of  the  mad  girl  reassured  him,  and  with  a  farewell  pres- 
sure of  Leila's  hand  he  descended  the  steps. 

"  I  will  take  your  lamp,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "  for 
they  will  scold  you  for  losing  it,  and  then  you  will  re- 
member your  pledge." 

The  girl  made  no  reply  but  by  a  strange  laugh,  in  which 
fear  seemed  to  mingle  with  joy  at  the  knight's  retreat, 
and  she  closed  the  opening  with  such  rapidity  that  he  was 
barred  out  before  he  had  finished  speaking. 

He  found  himself  perched  on  a  loose  step  partially 
laved  by  the  waters  as  they  passed.  The  channel  at  this 
point  was  not  deep,  unless  its  exceeding  purity  deceived 
the  eye.  Voices  of  men  speaking  confusedly  in  raised 
and  indignant  tones  in  a  tongue  unknown  to  him  were 
now  audible,  and  apprehending  more  for  the  safety  of 
the  girl  than  his  own,  if  the  gleam  of  the  light  should  be 
observed  through  the  chinks,  Ottorino  shaded  it  and 
stepped  into  the  water. 

It  was  deeper  than  he  had  at  first  conjectured,  flowing 
over  his  knees,  but   reconnoitring  as  he  advanced,  he 


'"PROMISE  ME  NOT  ONCE  TO  LOOK  UPON  THIS  STRANGE 
PORTAL  WITHOUT  REMEMBERING  YOUR  PLEDGE*" 


XCbc  abat>  6irl  179 

began  to  muse  on  the  probability  that  the  stream  would 
terminate  in  some  deep  cistern  or  reservoir.  The  dark 
thought  came  to  him  that  perhaps  he  was  barred  in  a 
place  from  which  there  was  no  exit,  and  where  he  might 
miserably  perish.  He  knew  that  the  importance  of  the 
secret  he  had  discovered  would  drive  the  inmates  of  the 
place,  in  case  of  his  discovery,  to  desperation,  and  that 
a  return  to  the  place  from  which  he  had  come  would  be 
impossible. 

Still  it  was  not  likely  that  a  project  so  malignant  and 
treacherous  would  enter  the  mind  of  the  mad  girl.  Otto- 
rino  advanced,  uncertain  as  to  what  was  in  store  for  him. 
As  he  went  his  imagination  conjured  up  so  vivid  a  vision 
of  the  dismal  tragedy,  that  the  flashes  of  the  lamp  in  the 
water  seemed  as  if  they  were  streaks  of  blood  speeding 
past.  Perhaps  it  was  still  but  a  part  of  the  imagination  of 
his  excited  organs,  but  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  heard 
remote  shouts  and  cries,  above  all  of  which  rang  Leila's 
voice,  repeating  her  "  Fly  —  fly !  "  in  accents  of  frantic 
warning.  Whether  she  was  indeed  urging  on  his  flight, 
or  merely  giving  way  to  the  vagaries  of  delirium,  he 
could  not  know.  Nevertheless  he  hastened  onward  until 
he  had  reached  an  arch  at  the  extremity  of  the  dead  wall. 
This  he  passed  without  difficulty,  startling  the  water- 
fowl which  had  built  their  nests  on  the  lonely  shores. 
Avoiding  the  numerous  pools  of  stagnant  water,  Otto- 
rino  soon  found  himself  in  the  densely  peopled  Cassaro. 

His  brain  was  whirling  with  the  knowledge  which  he 
had  so  mysteriously  gained.  Had  fate  itself  brought  him 
face  to  face  with  the  dire  mystery  enshrouding  the  death 
of  the  emperor's  wayward  son?  And  if  this  murdered 
lover  of  the  Moorish  girl  was  indeed  the  golden-haired 
Hohenstaufen,  who  was  that  fairest  of  women  who  had 
shared  his  love  with  the  poor  demented  girl?    An  icy 


x8o  castcl  t)el  flDonte 

chill  ran  through  his  veins  —  but  no  —  no!  Yet  —  was 
it  not  possible  that  the  jealousy  of  an  enraged  woman, 
the  fury  of  a  rival,  the  ambition  of  a  false  friend,  might 
have  wrought  the  dismal  tragedy?  The  only  possible 
solution  of  this  direful  riddle,  the  only  possible  light  to 
be  obtained,  seemed  to  glimmer  in  the  evanescent  flashes 
of  Leila's  half-extinguished  intellect. 

Racked  with  contending  emotions,  Ottorino  hastened 
onward.  So  absorbed  was  he  in  his  dark  ruminations 
that  he  almost  stumbled  over  a  female  figure  in  the  garb 
of  Alecto,  seated  on  a  broken  column  near  the  ruins  of 
an  ancient  temple.  In  the  momentary  glimpse  which  he 
caught,  ere  she  could  replace  her  mask,  the  Visconti  beheld 
a  countenance  which  corresponded  in  its  statuesque  beauty 
and  gloom  with  that  of  the  fury  whom  its  owner  im- 
personated. 

"  Divinity  of  Tartarus,  may  I  pass  without  the  offence 
you  know  so  well  how  to  avenge  ?  "  Ottorino  faltered, 
for  he  had  been  suddenly  struck  with  the  resemblance 
of  the  woman  before  him  to  the  Fata  Morgana. 

"If  that  be  Greek  for  hell,  in  Italian  it  is  memory," 
returned  Alecto,  with  intense  and  seemingly  irrepressible 
bitterness.  "  Pardon  me,  signor,  —  let  me  not  detain  you. 
You  are  doubtlessly  as  eager  a  worshipper  of  beauty  as 
all  the  rest  of  mankind  —  ah !  I  dreamed  not  she  was  so 
beautiful ! " 

"  There  is  something  in  your  tone,  signora,  —  nay,  look 
not  away,  —  there  is  something  in  your  tone  that  revives 
a  memory  that  we  have  met  before,"  Ottorino  replied, 
in  a  voice  which  he  in  vain  endeavoured  to  steady. 

"Trust  neither  memory  nor  mask,"  the  mysterious 
woman  replied,  and  ere  the  Lombard  could  inquire  into 
the  meaning  of  her  strange  words  she  had  disappeared, 
leaving  him  alone  to  ponder  over  her  enigmatic  speech. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE  COUNCIL 

The  council-chamber  of  the  Hohenstaufen  palace  was 
flooded  by  the  dazzling  rays  of  the  noonday  sun.  Around 
a  table,  on  which  papers  of  state,  parchments,  and  scrolls 
lay  in  confusion,  were  seated  five  men  engaged  in  deep 
and  serious  converse. 

They  were  Giordano  and  Galvano  Lancia,  Conrad  and 
Marino  Capece,  and  John  of  Procida,  one  of  the  foremost 
Palermitans  at  court. 

It  was  before  the  hour  appointed  for  the  meeting  of 
the  council,  and  the  loyal  adherents  of  the  Suabian  dy- 
nasty had  by  silent  accord  assembled,  before  the  presence 
of  discordant  elements  should  make  discussion  hazardous 
or  impossible. 

"  You  cannot  rule  Italians  with  Platonic  principles, 
nor  with  tenets  of  Pythagorean  philosophy,"  said  Gal- 
vano Lancia.  "  Manfred  dreams,  and  it  is  time  a  warning 
rHDte  were  sounded." 

"  It  is  the  temperament  of  the  Hohenstaufen,  —  trust- 
ful and  true,  —  so  was  the  dead  emperor  before  him,  until 
treachery  in  his  own  household  changed  his  sunny  nature 
to  a  less  trustful  one.  Let  the  king  but  look  around  — 
where  are  the  pillars,  the  support  of  the  realm?  The 
Italians  love  him  —  so  loved  the  Romans  Gracchus.    He 

i8i 


i82  Castel  &el  /IDonte 

trusts  to  the  barons.  They  are  great  because  their  an- 
cestors were  traitors  to  William  the  Norman,  and  their 
sons  will  be  great  because  their  sires  were  traitors  to 
Manfred." 

"  A  dark  fate  rules  the  imperial  house,  and  Manfred 
may  not  avert  it,"  said  John  of  Procida.  "  His  court  is 
the  high  seat  of  minstrelsy  and  love,  and  he  ignores  the 
maxim  of  the  shrewd  Roman, '  Si  vis  pacem,  para  bellum.' 
The  Germans  have  departed,  though  Landulf  of  Trent 
still  tarries.  The  trusty  legions  of  the  North  should  have 
been  retained  at  any  cost." 

"  Thus  it  was  ever,"  interposed  Marino  Capece.  "  What 
brought  Otto,  the  imperial  youth,  to  his  untimely  grave, 
but  his  fantastic  dreams,  revived  in  some  dread  midnight 
hour  in  the  imperial  vaults  of  Aix-la-Chapelle  ?  " 

"  I  like  not  the  sultry  stillness,  —  the  ominous  hush 
foretells  the  hurricane,"  said  John  of  Procida.  "  Where  is 
the  news  from  Rome,  —  what  intelligence  from  Viterbo  ? 
Has  the  Conclave  spoken  ?  Is  it  still  hatching  the  tgg  of 
contention?  Where  is  Count  Cenci?  Where  is  the  nun- 
cio, with  the  confirmation  of  the  grants  ?  " 

"  In  Northern  lands,  where  the  skulls  are  thicker  and 
the  brains  less  exposed  to  the  rays  of  the  sun,"  Giordano 
Lancio  replied,  pensively,  "  ebb  and  tide  of  kingdoms 
may  be  foretold,  but  not  so  on  this  volcanic  soil.  Those 
who  cheer  for  you  to-day  may  jeer  at  you  to-morrow. 
The  strife  between  Guelph  and  Ghibelline  is  as  old  as  the 
Alps,  whose  glittering  mountain  crests  an  all-wise  Provi- 
dence has  set  up,  a  barrier  between  Northern  ambition 
and  Southern  vindictiveness.  How  many  peoples  has  the 
avalanche  of  centuries  hurled  into  the  blooming  garden 
of  Italy?  The  Cimbri,  and  Teutoni,  Alans  and  Avars, 
the  Vandals,  the  Goths,  the  Franks  —  where  are  they 
to-day?    As  long  as  they  served  the  end  of  Rome,  Rome 


Ube  Counctl  183 

permitted  them  to  vegetate.  There  is  not  room  for  an 
emperor  and  Pope  on  Italian  soil." 

At  this  moment  the  folding-doors  of  the  council-hall 
opened,  revealing  the  king  in  his  usual  state,  surrounded 
by  the  high  officers  of  the  court,  while  an  unusual  num- 
ber of  Apulian  nobles  was  gathered  in  the  centre  of  the 
hall  of  audience.  The  Duke  of  Altamura's  arrival  seemed 
to  be  waited  for,  and  many  significant  glances  were  ex- 
changed between  the  barons  when  he  entered  and  saluted 
the  king  with  profound  and  almost  cringing  respect.  Yet 
the  countenance  of  the  duke  reflected  a  vexation,  which, 
despite  his  self-control,  did  not  escape  the  penetrating 
gaze  of  his  neighbour,  the  hunchback  chancellor,  and  it 
was  difficult  to  determine  whether  the  green  serpent  eyes 
of  John  of  Alife  reflected  concern  over  the  shadows  on  the 
duke's  clouded  brow,  or  beamed  with  malignant  joy  at 
the  high  constable's  apparent  discomfiture. 

The  deliberations  of  the  council  were  well  under  head- 
way, and  a  spirit  of  singular  unison  met  every  proposi- 
tion emanating  from  the  throne,  when  without  warning 
the  draperies  opposite  the  royal  dais  were  torn  asunder, 
and  a  shapeless  mass,  f-esembling  at  first  sight  a  black 
ball,  was  hurled  almost  directly  at  the  king's  feet.  The 
thing  fell  with  a  dull  thud,  uttering  a  cry  which,  so  far 
from  possessing  a  human  ring,  resembled  rather  the  howl 
of  a  wounded  hyena  or  a  jackal  of  the  desert. 

With  a  cry  of  horror  every  one  sprang  from  their 
seats,  while  those  nearest  recoiled  with  unfeigned  terror 
from  this  monstrous  surprise.  As  it  lay  motionless  on 
the  mosaic,  it  was  seen  to  be  the  body  of  an  African 
with  its  most  repulsive  attributes.  Securely  tied  with 
a  lasso,  which  secured  arms  and  limbs,  the  shapeless 
form  had  been  bent  almost  double.    The  eyes  protruded 


x84  Castel  Del  /Donte 

from  their  inflamed  sockets,  and  the  heavy  lips  twitched 
and  quivered  as  if  in  pain. 

Directly  upon  the  heels  of  this  monstrous  surprise 
there  appeared  between  the  draperies  a  very  giant  in 
height  and  breadth,  clad  in  dark,  steel-coloured  armour. 
From  his  bared  head  over  his  shoulders  flowed  locks  of 
silvery  white  and  bleached  with  age. 

A  suppressed  whisper  went  from  mouth  to  mouth: 
"  The  Duke  of  Lesina  —  the  Duke  of  Lesina."  Manfred, 
who  had  risen  from  his  seat  with  the  rest,  had  not  re- 
gained composure  sufficient  to  inquire  into  the  meaning 
of  this  extraordinary  scene. 

Unattended  by  aught  but  his  own  pride  and  stateli- 
ness,  the  banished  chieftain  stalked  into  the  presence  of 
his  great  enemy.  Only  in  his  knit  brows  and  compressed 
lips  showed  the  strife  of  passions  within  his  soul ;  but 
when  his  gaze  met  that  of  the  Duke  of  Altamura,  whose 
countenance  was  so  ghastly  pale  and  horror-stricken  that 
he  could  do  but  little  more  than  stare  speechlessly  at  the 
intruder,  the  Duke  of  Lesina's  pent-up  passions  swept 
away  all  barriers  of  restraint. 

"Dost  thou  own  him,  thou  cursed  viper?"  he  roared, 
pointing  to  the  apparently  lifeless  carcass,  while  his  eyes 
blazed  furious  wrath  on  the  high  constable.  "  Dost  thou 
acknowledge  the  tool  of  thine  infamy,  traitor  and  ab' 
ductor  ?  Ha !  For  once  the  web  of  thy  schemes  was  not 
fine  enough  to  blind  and  deceive  these  old  eyes,  which 
have  traced  this  ghoul  to  his  very  lair." 

It  was  Manfred  who,  barely  recovered  from  the  sur- 
prise which  held  all  present  spellbound,  broke  into  the 
intruder's  speech. 

"  By  the  splendour  of  God,  Duke  of  Lesina  —  have 
your  gray  hairs  deprived  you  of  your  senses  ?    Else  what 


Ube  Council  185 

means  this  unprecedented  insult  to  your  king  and  the 
council  of  the  realm  ?  " 

The  Duke  of  Lesina  fearlessly  faced  the  king;  his 
stupendous  stature  seemed  even  to  expand  under  the 
strain  of  suppressed  excitement,  as,  bowing  low,  he  calmly 
replied : 

"  If  the  Duke  of  Lesina,  now  under  the  ban  of  the 
realm,  has  forfeited  his  life,  he  is  ready  to  pay  the  penalty, 
but  not  until  he  has  brought  down  the  vengeance  of 
heaven  on  yonder  miscreant.  Behold  him,  son  of  Fred- 
erick, behold  the  blanched  traitor  and  this  jackal  of  the 
desert,  his  ghoulish  coadjutor,  the  instrument  of  his  deeds 
of  darkness,  —  and  may  his  master  be  as  ready  to  account 
for  his  acts  as  I,  the  Duke  of  Lesina,  for  mine." 

The  words  of  the  white-haired  baron,  who  faced  the 
assembly  more  like  a  judge  than  a  petitioner,  carried 
such  conviction  with  them  that  Manfred  turned  to  the 
Duke  of  Altamura,  pointing  with  a  gesture  of  undis- 
guised disdain  to  the  shapeless  mass  on  the  floor. 

"  You  have  heard  the  impeachment,  duke  —  we  await 
your  reply ! " 

"  It  is  my  runner,  King  Manfred,"  replied  the  duke, 
whose  consternation  had  gradually  given  way  to  un- 
bounded fury.  "  The  king's  Majesty  is  aware  of  the  dis- 
orders in  Calabria.  We  cannot  clean  a  pigsty  with  a 
silver  fork,  nor  can  we  trap  bandits  with  pages  in  silken 
doublets.  Like  to  like;  Ghino's  own  followers  will  be 
instrumental  in  bringing  about  his  downfall,  and  for  these 
ends  I  employ  this  trusty  African.  But  with  your  royal 
leave,"  he  continued,  striding  toward  the  prostrate  form, 
"  this  bundle  of  human  flesh  is  as  offensive  to  our  sight 
as  it  is  comfortless  in  its  enforced  coils." 

And  without  awaiting  permission  from  the  king,  he 
drew  his  poniard,  and,  bending  low  on  one  knee,  cut  with 


i86  Castel  bel  flDonte 

its  sharp  blade  the  cords  which  held  the  runner  captive, 
then,  rising,  applied  to  him  such  a  vicious  kick  that  the 
Moor  fairly  shot  through  the  draperies  out  of  the  council- 
hall,  to  the  great  relief  of  every  one  present  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  Duke  of  Lesina. 

"  Let  not  the  glib  tongue  of  this  fiend  and  arch-traitor 
lead  the  king  into  his  toils,"  gasped  the  old  duke,  almost 
beside  himself  with  rage  at  beholding  the  composure  of 
Altamura  and  the  favourable  impression  produced  on  the 
king  and  council  by  his  admittedly  sane  logic.  "  I  re- 
peat my  accusation,  —  I  accuse  the  duke  of  fostering 
friendship  with  the  black  bands  for  his  own  personal  ends, 
I  accuse  him  of  playing  under  cover  with  the  sworn  ene- 
mies of  your  house.  I  am  an  outcast,  nameless,  homeless, 
but  I  stand  here  not  only  to  denounce  the  perpetrator  and 
promoter  of  all  acts  inimical  to  the  house  whose  name  I 
bear,  but  to  urge  two  matters  in  the  name  of  justice,"  he 
continued,  darkening  with  suppressed  passion.  "  I  de- 
mand that  the  laws  of  God  and  man  be  put  into  exe- 
cution against  the  woman  called,  to  the  eternal  blush  of 
our  name,  Francesca  di  Lesina,  —  once  a  nun,  whom  the 
papal  tribunals  have  condemned  as  the  paramour  of  an 
accursed  villain ;  I  demand  the  restoration  of  the  wrong- 
fully seized  and  tyrannically  withheld  estates,  honours, 
and  wealth  of  our  house." 

"  Merciless  knight !  Art  thou  not  satisfied  with  the 
blood  which  thou  and  thy  followers  have  so  long  drained 
from  every  pore  of  this  land  ?  Must  more  blood,  flowing 
in  the  veins  of  a  most  miserable  woman,  be  shed  to 
appease  thy  thirst  ?  "  exclaimed  the  king.  Then,  turning 
to  Altamura,  he  continued :  "  We  have  listened  to  your 
defence,  duke,  and  so  well  are  we  disposed  toward  you, 
recognizing  the  great  services  which  you  have  rendered 
our  house,  that  we  pray  you  to  forgive  the  gray  hairs 


Ube  Council  i»7 

of  your  accuser,  to  bury  the  old  quarrels  and  strife !  We 
would  apply  a  general  bandage  to  the  wounds  of  the  state, 
and  Apulia  bleeds  fast  from  those  of  such  valiant  knights. 
Will  you  be  the  first  to  extend  the  hand  of  reconciliation, 
Duke  of  Altamura  ?  " 

"  It  were  ill  if  we  requited  the  royal  confidence  by 
declining  so  noble  a  request,"  the  duke  responded,  with 
feigned  humility  and  without  raising  his  eyes,  but  his 
rhetoric  suffered  a  sudden  check. 

"  Little  do  I  marvel  at  your  willingness,  most  courteous 
assassin,  poisoner,  traitor,  and  abductor,  to  make  the 
peace  of  your  black  soul  with  the  house  of  Lesina ! "  the 
old  duke  roared,  shaking  like  an  aspen.  "  And  if  you  will 
but  seal  it  in  person  at  our  castle,  so  far  from  denying 
you  refreshments,  we  shall  serve  you  the  headless  trunk 
of  your  paramour,  that  you  may  kiss  it  after  I  have  wiped 
the  stain  from  the  name  of  Lesina  in  her  degenerate 
blood." 

"  I  thank  you,  most  courteous  knight,"  the  high  con- 
stable replied,  turning  ghastly  pale,  "  and  by  the  little 
moan  I  make  for  the  wanton,  I  shall  prove  how  false 
are  your  lies  and  accusations!  But  by  the  faith  of  my 
body,"  the  duke  continued,  his  hand  on  his  sword,  "  I 
will  send  you  and  your  misbegotten  bastard  brood  to  hell 
ere  you  shall  have  her!  Not  for  the  love  of  her,  —  for 
when  I  tire  of  her  she  may  end  her  days  in  the  company 
of  her  like,  but  to  show  you  how  I  despise  you  and  your 
prating." 

"  Then  guard  her  well !  For  if  justice  be  denied,  I 
will  storm  your  lair  and  hang  her  on  the  highest  tree 
to  be  found." 

The  old  duke  turned  to  the  king. 

"I  ask  no  favours,  King  Manfred:  I  demand  justice 
and  the  woman  who  has  reviled  the  time-honoured  name 


i^  Castel  ^el  /iDonte 

of  our  house  by  coupling  it  with  that  of  his  like,"  —  he 
paused  while  he  cast  a  glance  of  unutterable  loathing  and 
hatred  on  his  foe,  such  as  a  man  might  turn  on  some 
reptile  whose  venom  rankled  in  his  flesh,  —  "  of  him  who 
once  before  deserted  the  king's  cause  at  the  direst  pinch 
of  our  aflFairs." 

"To  the  king,  my  sovereign,  alone  am  I  bound  to 
account  for  my  demeanour,"  growled  the  duke,  "  but 
I  intend  to  depart  at  the  earliest  for  Castel  Gandolfo,  to 
offer  my  personal  excuses  to  my  accuser." 

A  general  murmur  arose,  while  Manfred's  eyes  flashed 
fire. 

"  By  the  wrath  of  God !  Has  the  many-headed  hydra, 
which  we  thought  crushed,  again  raised  the  serpent  heads 
of  sedition?  Leave  our  presence,  Duke  of  Lesina!  Too 
long  have  we  Ustened  to  your  treason  and  rebellious 
speech." 

"  This  as  reply  to  my  demand  for  our  confiscated  es- 
tates.   Will  the  king  deliver  the  woman  to  us  ?  " 

"  Alas !  What  would  then  be  our  choice  but  to  become 
a  sainted  monk,  and  mumble  Misereres,"  said  Altamura, 
with  such  mock  solemnity  that  those  who  heard  the  speech 
laughed  outright. 

"  As  for  the  woman,"  Manfred  replied,  "  it  lies  not 
within  our  domain  to  enter  into  the  private  quarrels  of 
our  vassals.  Have  you  any  just  complaints,  our  courts 
are  open  to  the  highest  and  the  lowest." 

A  laughter  of  unutterable  scorn  broke  from  the  lips 
of  Lesina. 

"  It  lies  not  within  the  jurisdiction  of  your  courts  to 
determine  the  honour  of  our  house.  We  have  been  faith- 
ful vassals  of  the  crown  in  war  and  in  peace,  but  since 
the  king's  Majesty  holds  in  utter  contempt  and  defiance 
all  reason  and  justice,  since  he  has  banished  all  fit  council 


XTbe  Council  189 

from  the  realm,  we  of  the  house  of  Lesina  deny  his 
suzerainty  and  no  longer  acknowledge  him  as  our  sov- 
ereign. I  go  to  lodge  this  protestation  with  the  protono- 
tary  of  the  realm !  " 

"  And  this  is  the  recompense  for  our  conciliatory  policy, 
the  several  grants  in  our  kingdom,"  said  Manfred,  turn- 
ing to  Galvano  Lancia.  "  But  we  have  studied  the  Roman 
law,  and  remember  to  have  read  that  the  ingratitude  of 
the  receiver  gives  the  granter  the  right  to  reclaim  his 
gift." 

"  If  your  Majesty  had  studied  the  canon  law  with  equal 
profit,  you  would  have  found  that  worse  crimes  are 
threatened  with  worse  penalties,  but  we  will  be  silent 
till  the  heavens  themselves  begin  to  clatter  the  tidings." 

Almost  suffocated  with  the  violence  of  his  rage,  Man- 
fred gasped  for  breath,  then,  springing  from  his  seat, 
he  shouted  "  Guards !  Guards  !  "  with  so  loud  a  voice 
that  the  Saracens,  stationed  in  the  corridor,  burst  in  with 
spears  lowered,  expecting  no  less  than  an  attack  on  the 
king.  But  before  Manfred  could  shape  his  furious  intent 
into  words,  the  brothers  Lancia  and  Capece  had  with 
combined  efforts  succeeded  in  calming  his  wrath. 

"  You  speak  truth,  my  lord ;  it  becomes  not  our 
Majesty  to  altercate  with  traitors  and  rebels,  wherefore 
we  will  leave  these  to  choke  in  their  venom,  giving  the 
bastards  till  sunset  to  leave  our  dominions,  when,  if  we 
find  them  out  of  their  holes,  rather  than  miss  their  des- 
truction we  will  set  the  very  stubble  on  fire." 

"  By  San  Gennaro,  King  Manfred,"  spoke  the  intrepid 
Lesina,  "  there  is  an  abundance  of  bastards  already  in  the 
kingdom  without  lugging  in  more !  I  go  —  and  may  the 
king  never  have  cause  to  rue  this  hour." 

"  Remove  him !    Remove  him !  "  Manfred  gasped,  whit- 


190  Castel  C>cl  /iDontc 

ening  with  rage  at  the  insult  aimed  at  himself,  "  ere  we 
do  that  which  we  may  repent." 

Without  the  customary  homage  Lesina  strode  erect 
through  the  ranks  of  the  silent  barons,  but  when  he 
reached  the  portals  he  turned  to  give  a  parting  look  of 
defiance  to  the  Duke  of  Altamura,  who  returned  it  to  the 
full. 

"  A  grim  old  lion,"  John  of  Alife  remarked  with  a 
sneer  to  the  latter,  after  Lesina  had  disappeared.  "  He 
never  loved  you,  as  he  should,  bearing  in  mind  that  you 
are  a  connection." 

The  high  constable  bit  his  lip,  with  an  irate  side 
glance  at  the  chancellor. 

"  He  raves,  as  most  men  do  at  his  stage  of  life.  But 
I  would  rather  spend  an  hour  in  the  torture-chamber 
than  undergo  another  ordeal  like  this." 

After  the  council  had,  without  further  interruptions  or 
reference  to  the  events  which  had  transpired  at  its  sit- 
ting, closed  its  deliberations  for  the  day,  and  after  Man- 
fred and  the  Apulians  had  departed,  leaving  the  hall 
singly  or  in  groups,  the  Duke  of  Altamura  found  him- 
self face  to  face  with  San  Severino. 

"  Are  you  a  wizard  ?  "  said  the  latter  to  the  duke,  after 
they  were  alone.  "  We  are  straining  every  nerve  to  no 
purpose,  and  you  seem  to  hold  every  thread  in  your 
hand." 

"  Not  a  wizard,  but  an  Italian,  tired  of  foreign  bondage 
and  resolved  to  break  asunder  the  shackles  that  have 
fettered  our  freedom  for  centuries." 

"  The  moment  seems  ill-chosen  t  " 

An  impatient  gesture  interrupted  the  speaker. 

"  Was  there  ever  treaty  that  could  not  be  broken  ?  It 
is  all  the  purpose  in  their  making.     Ah,  San  Severino, 


Ube  Council  191 

you  may  yet  reside  like  a  lord  on  your  confiscated 
estates !  " 

"  Our  estates !  The  very  memory  rankles  in  the  blood  I 
But  who  will  wear  the  lion's  skin  after  the  game  ?  " 

"  The  lion's  skin  can  but  cover  a  lion !  But  I  must 
look  to  my  runner.  By  the  flames  of  purgatory,  that 
old  dotard  had  well-nigh  deprived  me  of  my  pleasant 
coadjutor!  It  is  the  first  time  he  has  thus  been  tracked; 
his  wits  must  have  dried  up  in  the  Maremma.  How  do 
you  like  him?  I  had  his  tongue  torn  out  —  he  can  be 
trusted !  Ay !  if  the  state  knows  not  how  to  honour  virtue, 
I  do.  Verily,  San  Severino,  you  will  live  to  see  great 
things  accomplished  by  humble  means." 

The  Apulian  kept  back  the  reply  which  came  to  his 
lips,  and  moved  uneasily  toward  the  door. 

"  I  do  marvel,"  he  then  said,  "  that  your  Lordship 
will  have  anything  to  do  with  such  a  vicious,  pestilential, 
misshapen  monstrosity,  the  very  odour  of  which  —  " 

"  Egad,  count,"  interrupted  the  duke,  "  the  monstrosity 
is  fit  for  its  work  and  his  work  for  the  man,  and,  as  the 
saints  say,  '  does  not  the  end  sanctify  the  means  ? '  Ah, 
you  shudder,  San  Severino,  even  in  this  warm  air,  as  if 
the  paws  of  my  gentle  strangler  encircled  your  neck.  And 
in  all  truth,  would  he  not  prove  a  most  grateful  surprise  to 
one's  foe  ?  What  say  you,  count  ?  Imagine  yourself  start- 
ing up  suddenly  from  uneasy,  fitful  slumbers,  —  distant 
convent  bells  toll  the  midnight  hour, — you  feel  the  unseen 
presence  of  something,  seemingly  not  of  this  earth,  —  you 
rise  on  your  pillows,  —  your  eyes  stare  through  the  dark- 
ness, —  now  an  errant  moon-ray  glides  slanting  into  your 
chamber,  and  you  see  in  the  murky  twilight,  crouching 
near  your  bed,  like  the  panther  of  the  desert,  even  yon 
misshapen  monstrosity,  —  you  stare  into  the  red  glare 
of  his  eyes,  —  you  behold  his  dilated  nostrils,  —  the  gleam 


192  Castel  t>el  /Donte 

of  his  wolfish  teeth,  —  suddenly  a  spring,  —  a  yell,  —  a 
moan,  —  and  all  is  over.  How  pale  you  are,  San  Sever- 
ino,  and  yet  it  is  a  most  pleasant  death ;  only  you  cannot 
recite  all  your  sins  between  acts.  Pleasant  dreams,  count, 
and  may  our  plans  succeed  ere  the  birds  have  flown  for 
whom  the  spring  is  set." 

So  little  did  San  Severino  relish  the  duke's  histrionic 
talent  that  he  shot  through  the  door  of  the  council-hall 
as  if  the  African  were  in  very  truth  upon  his  heels,  never 
heeding  the  duke's  parting  salutation.  The  latter  gazed 
upon  his  swiftly  retreating  form  with  a  contemptuous 
smile. 

"  Thou  deemest  thyself  a  most  cunning  hound,  San 
Severino,  and  yet  thou  quakest  before  the  mere  shadow 
of  a  midnight  vision.  Look  to  it  that  it  remain  one  — 
look  to  it  well !  " 

It  had  grown  dark  in  the  council-hall.  The  tapers  in 
the  candelabras  shed  a  mournful  glow  over  the  high 
vaulted  chambers,  casting  sombre  shadows  in  the  nooks 
and  corners. 

The  duke  turned  to  a  window  facing  the  terraces  which 
slewed  toward  the  bay,  and,  imitating  a  certain  night- 
bird,  uttered  a  shrill  whistle,  which  at  short  intervals  he 
repeated  three  times.  Hardly  had  he  finished  the  last  call 
when  a  black  mass,  that  seemed  to  fly  through  the  air  in 
its  breathless  speed,  almost  fell  at  his  feet.  There  it  lay 
crouching  like  a  cowed  wild  beast  before  the  whip  of  its 
master. 

A  fiendish  gleam  lit  up  the  duke's  features  as  he  re- 
ceived from  the  hands  of  the  African  a  scroll,  securely 
tied  and  sealed.  After  having  closely  scrutinized  the  seal 
and  found  the  same  intact,  he  placed  the  scroll  in  his 
silken  doublet ;  then  retracing  his  steps,  he  paused  within 


Ube  Counctl  193 

a  few  paces  of  the  Moor,  as  if  to  g^in  a  better  view  of 
the  creature  before  him. 

"  Thou  hast  let  that  old  bear  track  thee  down,  Zem," 
he  said,  in  a  voice  whose  mock  caressing  tones  formed  a 
strange  contrast  to  the  tenor  of  his  speech,  which,  though 
rather  guessed  than  understood,  sent  a  shiver  through  the 
body  of  the  kneeling  African,  "  Thou,  who  canst  out- 
strip the  fleetest  deer,  hast  fallen  into  the  snares  laid  for 
thy  master.  'Tis  a  pity  thou  hast  not  the  gift  of  speech, 
for  we  might  learn  something  above  the  mere  surmise. 
Look  up,  Zem !  "  the  duke  continued,  more  fiercely.  "  We 
will  give  thee  one  more  test.  Thou  wilt  depart  this  very 
hour  with  the  message  we  entrust  to  thee  to  Lucera,  the 
Saracen  city  —  thou  hearest,  to  Lucera!  Thou  wilt 
hasten  with  all  the  speed  of  thy  deformed  carcass  to 
reach  her  gates  within  one  week.  There  thou  wilt  show 
this  ring,  which  will  admit  thee  into  the  city,  and  this 
letter,  which  will  cause  thee  to  be  conducted  into  the 
presence  of  the  one  in  command,  John  the  Moor.  To 
him  thou  wilt  deliver  this  scroll,  and  to  me  thou  wilt 
bring  his  response.  And  hark  thee,  my  gentle  Zem !  If 
thou  as  much  as  falter  in  one  step,  if  thou  delayest  as 
long  as  one  moment  on  the  journey  after  thou  reachest 
Taranto,  if  thou  passest  not  through  the  Apulian  land 
swift  as  the  shades  of  the  damned  fleeing  from  judg- 
ment, I  will  have  thy  naked  body  torn  with  hot  irons  and 
roast  thee  alive  over  a  slow  fire,  and  crows  and  vultures 
shall  shriek  exultant  over  thy  writhing  carcass !  " 

With  these  words,  the  understanding  of  which  was 
attested  by  the  crouching  figure  with  something  like  a 
low  moan,  the  duke  stepped  to  the  table.  From  there  he 
took  a  sealed  letter  and  a  ring,  both  of  which  he  de- 
livered to  the  African,  who  received  them  lying  almost 


194  Castel  &el  /iDonte 

flat  upon  the  ground  while  he  kissed  the  sandals  of  the 
duke. 

At  a  sign  from  the  latter  he  arose. 

"  Remember  thee  well,  Zem  —  " 

With  these  words  he  pointed  to  the  aperture  through 
which  the  African  had  entered,  and  so  quickly  did  the 
runner  disappear  that  it  seemed  as  if  a  shadow  had  passed 
through  the  room. 

With  a  smile  of  grim  satisfaction  the  duke's  gaze  fol- 
lowed the  fleeting  form  of  the  African. 

"  It  will  require  a  swifter  hunter  than  Lesina  to  track 
the  game  this  time,"  he  said,  watching  intently  till  the 
last  trace  of  the  runner  had  vanished  in  the  blue  moonlit 
night  without.  Then  he  broke  with  eager  fingers  the  seal 
of  the  message.  The  parchment  which  he  unrolled  was 
written  in  the  quaint,  monastic  style  of  the  time ;  from  it 
the  duke  began  to  read. 

"  We,  Charles  of  France,  by  the  grace  of  God,  Count 
of  Anjou,  Forcalquier,  Languedoc,  and  Provence,  by  the 
free  will  of  the  people  of  Rome  Senator-elect,  King  of 
Sicily,  Apulia,  and  Capua,  King  of  Jerusalem,  Knight  of 
St.  Louis,  Knight  of  St.  Denis,  defender  of  the  faith,  to 
Ferrando,  Duke  of  Altamura,  —  greeting." 

The  duke  paused,  while  his  gaze  wandered  from  the 
parchment. 

"  King  of  Sicily,  Apulia,  and  Capua,"  he  soliloquized. 
"  By  San  Ambrogio,  Anjou  holds  our  Italian  honour 
cheap !  Thinks  he  to  gain  these  realms  over  our  heads 
without  one  stroke  of  the  sword?  If  he  does,  —  by  the 
mass,  he  shall  have  to  beg  harder,  for  his  head  than  he 
did  in  Egypt  upon  his  return  from  the  unconquered  holy 
sepulchre!  Are  we  indeed  but  to  exchange  one  tyrant 
for  another?  Are  the  wizard's  words  to  come  true  so 
soon  ?    King  of  Sicily,  Apulia,  and  Capua !    Style  thyself 


tTbe  Council  19s 

thus  for  an  hour  and  a  day,  defender  of  the  faith,  till 
the  lava  from  the  flaming  volcano  has  consumed  the 
Hohenstaufen  empire,  —  then  beware  of  our  Apulian 
quicksands ! " 

The  duke  continued  to  read,  commenting  on  the  mes- 
sage as  he  proceeded. 

"  Promises  vaguely  disguised,  —  *  We  shall  respect  the 
rights  of  our  loyal  barons  '  —  a  noble  bait !  Had  we  but 
forces  of  our  own !  The  Apulians  love  the  king,  —  the 
Moslems  cannot  be  bought,  —  the  Germans  are  so  stub- 
born that  nothing  but  the  colic  will  move  them.  Could 
we  but  dislodge  them  from  the  bulwarks  of  their  loyalty ! 
They  are  postponing  their  departure  upon  advice, — whose 
advice?  And  Landulf  of  Trent,  that  gaunt,  brawling 
swine,  who  has  greater  regard  for  a  brimming  tankard 
than  for  the  father  of  Qiristendom  and  the  Conclave 
combined  — "  The  duke  paused  with  a  shudder;  the 
words  died  on  his  lips. 

Whence  that  icy  blast  which  permeated  the  atmosphere 
like  a  breath  from  an  open  grave? 

Altamura  started  to  rise.  The  light  of  the  tapers, 
flickering  dimly,  turned  a  spectral  bluish  hue,  as  accord- 
ing to  popular  belief  they  do  when  a  departed  spirit  passes 
through  the  room.  Just  at  that  moment  the  convent  bells 
from  Santa  Lucia  and  the  remoter  cloisters  of  San 
Giovanni  degli  Eremiti  pealed  the  midnight  hour,  and 
their  mingled  chimes,  vibrating  through  the  breathless 
calm  of  night,  seemed  to  intensify  the  stillness  rather  than 
to  break  it.  Suddenly  a  faint  bluish  light  appeared  beside 
the  duke,  and  in  it  rose  an  apparition,  indefinable  in  out- 
line, a  dark  spectral  something  that  chilled  the  blood  to 
the  very  heart  and  froze  every  limb.  A  pitiable  groan 
came  from  Altamura's  lips  as,  almost  mad  with  terror, 
he  stared  at  the  phantom,  then  he  staggered  as  if  a  deadly 


19^  CaBtel  2)el  nDonte 

blow  had  been  dealt  him  from  an  invisible  arm;  wildly 
his  hands  beat  the  air,  and  with  a  choked,  inarticulate 
outcry  he  fell  senseless,  striking  his  head  against  the  hard 
oaken  sill. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  GROTTOES  OF  PROSERPINA 

The  sun  had  risen  in  the  valley  of  Palermo,  and  the 
soft  haze  of  the  summer  morning  had  floated  away  into 
nothingness,  leaving  every  object  fresh  with  dew  and 
magnified  in  the  limpid  purity  of  the  air.  Golden  shafts 
of  light  pierced  the  heavy  foliage,  which  spread,  a  ver- 
dant canopy,  over  the  terraces  of  La  Khalesa,  the  cool- 
ing breezes  of  morning  were  laden  with  the  aromatic 
vapours  of  orange  and  almond-trees,  oleander  and  mag- 
nolias, laurel  and  anemones.  In  the  limpid  sky,  as 
against  a  golden  dome,  were  traced  the  spires  and  towers 
of  Palermo ;  the  minarets  of  the  mosque  of  Abdurrhaman 
were  clearly  defined  against  palm  and  cypress  groves. 
Behind  the  broad  promontory  of  Monte  Pellegrino,  arch- 
ing out  toward  the  sea,  rose  the  distant  slopes  of  the 
Bagaria,  while  full  of  life  and  colour  the  beautiful  bay 
stretched  toward  the  Liparian  Islands,  covered  with  hun- 
dreds of  boats,  whose  many-coloured  sails  added  a  dream- 
like enchantment  to  the  scene. 

Such  was  the  vision  which  met  Ottorino's  gaze  as  he 
stepped  out  to  the  balcony  after  the  uneasy,  fitful  slum- 
bers of  the  preceding  night.  He  almost  cursed  the  beauty 
of  nature.  The  brilliant  light  seemed  but  a  herald  of 
long,  sunny  hours  which  to  him  would  be  filled  with 
doubt  and  anguish.     Into  the  days  which  had  passed 

197 


19^  Caatel  ^el  Hbontc 

since  his  arrival  on  Sicilian  soil  there  had  been  com- 
pressed the  essence  of  a  lifetime,  both  in  happiness  and 
misery.  His  plans  and  resolutions  were  now  so  hope- 
lessly confused  that  he  almost  despaired.  How  could  he 
hope  to  meet  Helena  if  she  were  averse  to  the  tryst? 
His  appeals,  urgent  and  aflame  with  the  passion  that  con- 
sumed him,  had  not  even  elicited  a  response. 

As  the  day  advanced,  Ottorino  resolved  to  acquaint 
Manfred  with  his  adventure,  and  give  him  the  meagre 
details  of  a  mysterious  crime  which  he  had  gleaned  from 
the  Moorish  girl's  demented  fancy.  The  bonds  of  friend- 
ship, strengthened  by  mutual  regard,  confidence,  and 
kindred  temperaments  between  the  envoy  of  Matteo  Vis- 
conti  and  the  Hohenstaufen,  were  riveted  still  closer 
during  their  brief  but  important  interview. 

Returning  to  Khalesa,  Ottorino  found  himself  accosted 
by  a  page  in  the  gaudy  livery  of  some  Sicilian  noble. 
The  page,  after  furtively  scanning  the  Lombard,  as  if  to 
establish  his  identity  beyond  doubt,  handed  to  him  a  scroll 
tied  with  blue  silken  cords,  then,  without  vouchsafing 
a  word  or  awaiting  a  reply,  sped  away. 

For  a  moment  the  Visconti  stood  motionless,  his  heart 
throbbing  so  wildly  that  he  thought  he  could  hear  its 
tempestuous  beats  through  his  steel  corselet,  then,  cutting 
the  cords,  he  stared  at  the  contents  of  the  scroll  as  if  it 
were  a  message  from  another  world. 

At  last,  then,  his  fervent  appeals  had  found  her  ear, 
—  at  last,  then,  a  word  from  Helena !  Was  this  the 
language  of  deceit?  Was  this  the  speech  of  a  woman 
to  whom  love  had  ever  been  a  stranger?  Was  it  not 
rather  the  outcry  of  one  who  had  been  driven  to  the 
last  extremes  by  the  tyrannical  surveillance  of  another? 
He  pondered  awhile,  —  then  he  started.  What  certainty 
was  his  that  this  message,  couched  in  terms  of  terror 


XTbe  (Brottoes  of  iProgerpina  199 

and  endearment,  emanated  from  Helena  di  Miraval? 
What  certainty  that  it  was  even  intended  for  himself, 
the  most  ill-favoured  suitor  for  her  hand  ?  Ottorino  was 
neither  in  a  mood  to  temporize  nor  to  stop  to  analyze 
his  thoughts,  and  when,  after  a  second  glance  at  the 
scroll,  he  remembered  the  spot  assigned  for  the  tryst  at 
dusk,  the  ardour  in  his  breast  was  kindled  to  such  a 
pitch  that  no  consideration  of  danger  could  have  re- 
strained him. 

An  hour  before  the  appointed  time  Ottorino's  shadow 
walked  darkly  beside  him  toward  Monte  Pellegrino.  His 
feelings  by  this  time  were  wrought  up  to  such  a  point 
that  reason  had  completely  resigned  her  sway.  He  framed 
and  rejected  plan  after  plan,  speech  after  speech,  until 
he  appeared  to  himself  like  the  floating  fragment  of  a 
vessel,  cast  hither  and  thither  by  turbulent  waves. 

The  sight  of  the  ruins  in  which  the  Dominican  dwelt 
rekindled  some  of  Ottorino's  wildest  fancies.  He  paused 
with  a  degree  of  irresolution,  but  a  sweet  breath  of  roses, 
blown  to  his  lips  by  a  chance  breeze,  so  forcibly  recalled 
one  of  the  most  insidious  charms  of  the  Fata  Morgana 
that  he  hastened  onward,  wondering  at  his  own  waver- 
ing. The  path  was  almost  deserted  until  he  reached  the 
palm  groves  near  the  church  of  St.  Pelagio.  These 
groves  were  crowded  with  devotees,  and  Ottorino  felt 
a  vague  sense  of  apprehension  creep  into  his  heart  as 
he  heard  the  lugubrious  chant  of  a  death-mass  stealing 
from  within  on  the  silent  air  of  night. 

Passing  the  gates,  a  narrow  vale  stretched  before  him, 
a  sea  of  long,  flowing  grass,  broken  but  by  a  few  solitary 
Moorish  tombs,  and  bounded  by  wavelike  hillsides,  still 
bathed  in  the  last  rays  of  the  departing  light  of  day. 
The  only  living  objects  visible  were  a  few  sheep  or  goats; 
the  only  sounds  audible  were  distant  warblings  of  shep- 


aoo  Castel  t)el  /Donte 

herds'  pipes,  whose  owners  diverted  themselves  by  night 
after  the  traditional  manner  of  their  Arcadian  prede- 
cessors. 

The  sky  was  still  tinged  with  glowing  tints,  and  the 
solemn  heads  of  one  or  two  solitary  pines  had  not  quite 
abandoned  the  reflection.  Attracted  by  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  purity  and  serenity  of  nature  and  his  own 
turbulent  passions,  Ottorino  stopped  to  watch  the  sunset. 
As  he  turned  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  an  old 
woman,  who,  after  timidly  glancing  to  the  right  and  left, 
accosted  him. 

"  Ah !  It  is  thou,  the  Lombard  knight !  Well,  God  be 
praised,  for  the  child  was  almost  beside  herself  from  fear 
and  apprehensions !  But  thou  art  early,  though  they  say 
lovers'  feet  are  swift,  and  disappointment  comes  soon 
enough,  —  and  I  bring  it,"  said  the  old  dame,  much  agi- 
tated and  seemingly  out  of  breath. 

Ottorino's  resolutions  vented  themselves  but  in  an  echo, 
full  of  the  meaning  of  the  word. 

"  Disappointment !  "  he  said,  paling.  "  What  mean 
you,  mother  ?  It  is  impossible !  She  promised  by  every- 
thing holy  to  come,  —  a  few  moments  will  suffice,  —  but 
I  must  see  her." 

"I  tell  thee  it  is  impossible  —  impossible,"  replied  the 
old  crone,  shaking  her  head  in  confirmation  of  her  speech. 
"  Thou  wilt  believe  me  when  I  tell  thee  that  the  duke, 
her  kinsman,  has  got  wind  of  her  intentions  and  has 
dogged  her  every  step  this  whole  blessed  day,  so  that 
discovery  would  be  as  sure  to  overtake  you  both  as  night 
follows  day !  " 

Ottorino  was  instantly  struck  with  the  incongruity  of 
this  statement,  but  a  second  thought  thrilled  his  blood 
like  the  sting  of  a  scorpion.  The  old  woman  probably 
mistook  the  nature  of  his  agitation,  imputing  it  to  the 


XTbe  Grottoes  ot  Iproserpina  201 

terror  which  the  presence  of  so  formidable  a  rival  as  the 
one  darkly  hinted  was  likely  to  produce. 

"  Here  is  gold,"  the  Visconti  said,  after  a  pause. 
"  And  now  to  thy  business." 

"  Fie  upon  thee,  son  —  gold !  For  what  dost  thou 
take  me?  Nay,  if  I  must  take  it,  it  will  be  to  buy  two 
candles  for  the  good  of  my  soul,"  said  the  old  dame,  with 
indignation,  but  pocketing  the  coins.  "  Ah !  Had  she 
but  dared  to  come,  she  would  have  been  as  glad  to  see 
thee  as  thy  mother  after  thy  return  from  battle,  —  ten 
times  gladder!  But  thou  knowest,  knight,  the  duke  is 
no  fool's  bladder,  that  hits  and  gives  no  headache." 

"  Enough  of  thine  idle  prattling !  If  this  be  all  thou 
art  instructed  to  say,  begone  and  let  me  go  my  way." 

And  without  further  parley  Ottorino  started  in  the 
direction  of  the  grottoes,  which  formed  one  of  the  prin- 
cipal retreats  of  the  flowery  wilderness,  known  as  the 
vale  of  Proserpina.  It  was  here  that  the  daughter  of 
Demeter  was  said  to  have  spent  her  last  days  on  the 
blooming  earth,  ere  as  Pluto's  consort  she  bade  it  fare- 
well in  exchange  for  the  abode  she  was  to  rule  ever  after. 

The  old  woman  watched  the  Lombard  closely,  as  if 
to  note  the  direction  which  he  took,  then  she  suddenly 
called  to  him  to  halt. 

"  What  a  temper !  What  a  bad,  bad  temper  in  one 
so  young,"  she  muttered,  shaking  her  head.  "  Listen ! 
The  duke  is  like  to  visit  this  spot  ere  night  is  over;  he 
loves  to  puzzle  mankind;  thou  hadst  better  not  be  seen 
here,"  the  old  hag  whispered,  while  she  glanced  at  the 
Visconti  with  a  look  such  as  only  an  Italian  hag  can  give, 
her  black  eyes  flaming  like  coals.  Then  she  burst  into  an 
immoderate  fit  of  laughter,  which  subsided  only  in  as 
immoderate  a  fit  of  coughing. 


202  Castel  bel  /IDontc 

"  Avoid  the  windings  of  the  gardens  which  lead  to 
the  grottoes,"  she  concluded,  shaking  her  skinny  finger. 

"  I  thank  thee  for  thy  warning,"  returned  Ottorino, 
"  and,  knowing  the  peril  that  I  run,  I  shall  not  delay  to 
fall  into  it,"  Then  he  left  her  so  abruptly  that  she  stared 
a  moment  aghast  ere  she  comprehended  that  he  had  dis- 
appeared. 

The  words  of  the  old  dame  struck  the  conviction  into 
Ottorino's  soul  that  there  was  more  behind  them  than 
she  led  him  to  believe.  A  bitterness  such  as  he  had  never 
before  known  took  possession  of  him,  and  his  thoughts 
were  as  dark  as  the  realms  into  which  the  mysterious 
grottoes  were  supposed  to  lead.  The  way  was  absolutely 
unknown  to  him,  but  he  followed  the  winding  path  regard- 
less of  where  it  would  carry  him  to.  Below  lay  a  wooded 
valley,  into  which  he  slowly  began  to  descend,  after  pass- 
ing through  a  gate  in  a  hedge  of  aloes  matted  together 
with  every  species  of  odoriferous  climbing  plants. 

An  enervating  perfume  saluted  him  on  every  side,  for 
the  underbrush  of  the  bank  which  he  descended  by  an 
ingenious  labyrinth  of  windings  was  formed  of  fragrant 
shrubs  and  the  most  richly  coloured  and  scented  produc- 
tions of  the  profuse  flora  of  Italy.  The  myrtle,  laden 
with  thoughts  of  love,  glittered  tearfully  in  the  moon- 
light; lavender  mingled  its  fine  essence  with  the  intox- 
icating perfume  of  the  bay;  roses  innumerable  filled  the 
air  with  their  heavenly  breath.  The  wood  itself  con- 
sisted chiefly  of  orange,  cedar,  and  wild  fig-trees,  all  in 
full  bloom,  intermingled  with  a  few  stately  oaks. 
From  the  depths  of  the  valley  came  the  musical  murmur 
of  the  stream,  mingled  with  the  songs  of  innumerable 
nightingales,  which  seemed  to  have  colonized  so  con- 
genial a  retreat.  And  if  his  ear  did  not  mock  him,  the 
Visconti  distinguished  faint  flute  notes  and  other  sylvan 


tCbe  ©rottoes  ot  ptosetpina  203 

music  in  the  distance,  which  came  and  died  on  the  evanes- 
cent breezes.  Withal  there  was  an  air  of  wildness,  as  if 
nature  had  abandoned  herself  unmolested  to  this  pro- 
fusion of  romantic  loveliness.  No  trace  of  art  was  evi- 
dent to  break  the  spell  which  enchanted  the  senses.  Even 
the  statues  of  rural  divinities,  which  gleamed  here  and 
there  from  the  foliage,  relics  of  a  classic  age,  startled 
rather  by  a  vague  impression  of  existence  and  reality 
than  as  wonders  of  artificial  creation. 

Descending  through  this  bower  of  Eden,  Ottorino 
came  to  the  banks  of  the  Oreto.  Here  the  verdure 
seemed  fairly  enamelled  with  flowers,  and  the  moon  by 
this  time  shone  so  brightly  that  their  superb  tints  were 
softened  but  not  lost  in  the  shade ;  even  the  dark  violets 
displayed  their  purple  edges  with  golden  Ughts. 

A  little  higher  a  rivulet,  pouring  its  silver  flood  into 
the  Oreto,  formed  a  cascade,  over  which  the  ancient 
statues  of  Elora  and  Pomona  bent  toward  one  another, 
entwining  flowers  and  fruit  into  an  oval  arch.  Beyond 
the  cascade  the  meadow  opened  into  a  circular  form,  and 
immediately  in  front  arose  a  lofty  bank,  in  which  there 
appeared  the  mossy  entrance  of  a  grotto,  to  which  a 
winding  path,  just  sufficiently  wide  for  one  man,  as- 
cended. Art  seemed  only  to  have  imitated  the  affluent 
caprice  of  nature  in  the  adornment  of  this  charmed  re- 
treat. The  tall  rocks  overhead  preserved  their  native 
moss ;  the  wild  vine  clambered  with  the  wild  rose  and 
still  wilder  fig-tree ;  drops  trickled  through  the  interstices 
and  streamed  down  the  plants  which  hung  from  their 
fissures.  Even  the  profusion  of  sweet-scented  flowers 
seemed  only  to  prove  that  nature  herself  had  taken  an 
exceeding  delight  in  the  place,  and  had  decked  it  with 
most  lavish  magnificence  for  her  own  Buen  Retiro  from 
the  glorious  suns  of  her  beloved  Italy. 


204  Castel  del  A^onte 

Ottorino  paused  at  the  entrance  of  the  grotto,  though 
the  archways  of  honeysuckle,  stirred  by  a  soft  breeze, 
shook  the  sugared  dew  from  their  seashell  coloured  bells 
into  his  face,  as  if  to  refresh  and  invite  him  in.  Still 
he  wavered.  It  was  not  fear;  but  he  was  struck  with 
amazement  at  the  silence  and  dreamlike  solitude  which 
seemed  to  reign  in  this  supremely  beautiful  spot. 

The  entrance  to  the  grotto  before  him  was  an  irregular 
dome,  composed  of  slender  twigs,  matted  with  vines, 
honeysuckles,  and  other  twining  plants,  supported  as  on 
pillars  of  verdure  by  the  trunks  of  the  trees,  and  walled 
with  moss  and  espaliers  of  flowers.  While  the  grotto 
in  reality  possessed  three  distinct  and  individual  ap- 
proaches, each  completely  secluded  and  apart  from  the 
other,  and  known  but  to  those  familiar  with  the  laby- 
rinths of  the  vale  of  Proserpina,  it  seemingly  had  but 
the  one  which  Ottorino  had  by  chance  discovered.  A 
few  moments  he  tarried  at  its  entrance,  undecided  and 
unwilling  to  penetrate  the  Stygian  darkness.  He  was 
about  to  retrace  his  steps,  when  at  that  very  moment  there 
appeared  in  the  deepest  recess  of  the  cavity  a  soft  glim- 
mer, coming  from  what  appeared  to  be  an  alabaster  lamp, 
shaped  like  a  suspended  moon.  Forgetting  his  resolve 
to  leave  the  enchanted  spot,  Ottorino  stared  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  strange  light,  anxiously  waiting  to  see  what 
would  follow. 

A  few  moments  elapsed,  during  which  he  heard  not  a 
sound,  save  the  throbbing  of  his  own  heart.  Breathlessly 
he  waited,  and,  seeing  and  hearing  nothing,  was  about 
to  indulge  himself  with  a  full  inhalation,  when  he  fancied 
that  he  heard  a  soft  and  rapid  footfall  resounding  faintly 
in  the  remote  recesses.  The  steps  seemed  to  hesitate  for 
a  brief  space  of  time,  then  they  came  on,  as  if  reassured 
by  the  silence,  and  a  woman  glided  in.    The  grace  and 


Zbc  Grottoes  of  Proserpina  205 

lightness  of  her  movements  and  the  rounded  beauty 
of  her  figure  at  once  convinced  Ottorino  that  he  beheld 
the  one  whom  he  most  feared  and  most  wished  to  meet  — 
Helena  di  Miraval.  His  heart  gave  one  great  and  mighty 
bound,  —  she  was  here  —  she  had  not  deceived  him.  But 
what  was  her  purpose  in  the  cavern?  Was  this  the 
cause  of  the  hag's  seeming  uneasiness  —  of  her  warning 
to  him  to  avoid  the  park  ?  Ottorino  heard  himself  laugh- 
ing aloud,  and  the  youthful  nymph  who  had  just  en- 
tered the  cave  started  at  the  strange  sound.  Despite  the 
anguish  which  consumed  his  heart,  the  Visconti  could 
not  avert  his  gaze  from  the  lovely  apparition.  She  had 
changed  the  costume  in  which  he  had  first  met  her  to 
one  purely  Grecian.  The  loose  folds  of  some  shimmering 
and  exquisitely  fine  silken  tissue  reflected  the  delicate 
tints  of  the  sky  colours  in  a  seashell,  and  floated  around 
her  exquisite  form,  confined  by  a  coral  clasp  over  her 
beautiful  shoulders.  Her  arms  and  feet  were  bare,  save 
that  the  latter  were  sandalled  with  silver.  Ottorino  re- 
marked her  beautiful  chestnut  hair,  tied  in  a  Grecian 
knot  and  wreathed  through  with  crimson  water-flowers, 
but  to  his  further  surprise  and  chagrin  he  noted  that  she 
wore  a  mask. 

Undecided  whether  to  enter  the  cave  or  to  first  ascer- 
tain her  purpose,  the  Lombard  remained  where  he  was. 
The  masked  lady,  after  satisfying  herself  apparently  by 
a  glance  around  the  grotto  that  no  one  but  her  fair  self 
was  in  it,  sat  down  on  a  ledge  of  rock  and,  timidly  listen- 
ing, bent  her  head  from  one  side  to  the  other.  Ottorino's 
heart  beat  so  wildly  that  he  almost  felt  impelled  to  rush 
into  the  cave,  though  it  was  well  for  him  that  he 
checked  his  impetuous  ardour.  Glancing  around,  he  per- 
ceived that  the  rocks  of  the  cavern  were  broken  by  little 
caves  and  narrow  terraces,   blooming  with  flowers  or 


3o6  Cartel  ^el  /l^onte 

shadowed  with  drooping  foliage.  These  were  reached 
by  playful  zigzags,  irregularly  cut,  as  if  to  mock  the 
efforts  of  the  climber.  And  the  diversion  of  mounting 
them  seemed  seldom  used,  for  the  mosses  appeared  un- 
trodden, and  in  many  places  briar  roses  and  jasmine  had 
so  twisted  over  that  even  a  nymph  would  have  had  some 
difficulty  in  gaining  a  foothold.  Without  giving  himself 
time  for  deliberation,  Ottorino  climbed  one  of  the  higher 
ledges,  but  his  progress  was  quickly  barred  by  a  cave  of 
glittering  spar,  which  was  thrown  into  shadow  by  a  pro- 
fusion of  laurels  in  their  full  purple  bloom.  Directly  be- 
neath him  yawned  a  stagnant  pool,  rendering  futile  every 
further  effort  at  approach. 

He  was  just  sufficiently  far  removed  from  the  fair 
visitor  of  the  grotto  to  be  able  to  discern  her  movements, 
while  the  distance  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  hear  any- 
thing she  might  say  to  the  one  she  doubtlessly  expected, 
even  if  the  conversation  should  be  carried  on  in  tones 
above  those  in  which  discourses  of  this  character  are 
usually  held.  There  was  nothing  left  for  Ottorino  but 
to  crouch  down  in  a  bed  of  iris  and  basil,  whose  sweet- 
ness vainly  wooed  his  notice  and  into  which  he  thrust 
his  limbs.  He  peered  forth  from  this  hiding-place  like 
some  wild  animal  from  its  haunt,  and  with  feelings  little 
less  ferocious;  for  that  he  was  not  the  expected  one  the 
place  and  the  gestures  of  the  nymph  had  convinced  him. 
Even  at  this  distance  Ottorino  had  established  the  iden- 
tity between  the  masked  occupant  of  the  grotto  and  the 
fairy  Morgana,  and  it  was  only  with  the  exertion  of 
all  the  calmness  at  his  command  that  he  constrained  him- 
self to  the  position  of  a  silent  witness. 

The  nymph's  attitude  now,  while  she  sat  listening,  was 
one  of  grace  and  beauty.  She  stirred  uneasily,  then  lis- 
tened again,  and  Ottorino  thought  in  his  excited  fancy 


Ube  Orottoes  ot  iproserpina  207 

that  he  could  even  distinguish  the  beatings  of  her  heart 
through  her  aerial  robes.  A  bird  chirruped  and  she 
started  up ;  silence  followed,  and  with  an  expression  of 
scorn  and  hauteur  she  sank  back  into  her  waiting  attitude. 

Another  pause,  and,  as  if  overcome  by  impatience,  the 
nymph  moved  rapidly  toward  the  background  of  the 
grotto,  but  to  the  Visconti's  deep  satisfaction  she  re- 
turned disappointed.  Languidly  she  sank  upon  the  ver- 
dant couch,  as  if  quite  vanquished  by  the  weariness  of  her 
wait.  She  rested  for  a  little,  crossing  her  beautiful  arms 
over  her  head,  but  the  disquietude  returned;  she  kissed 
the  misnamed  heartsease  and  mignonette  of  her  fragrant 
pillow  with  vague  rapture,  started  up,  plucked  some 
flowers,  covered  them  with  kisses,  and  pressed  them  with 
devouring  tenderness  to  her  lips  and  bosom,  then  threw 
them  disdainfully  away.  Suddenly  she  sprang  from  the 
couch;  footsteps  were  remotely  audible,  and  in  an  in- 
stant she  had  taken  her  seat  on  the  mossy  bank,  appar- 
ently as  calm  and  passionless  as  a  statue  of  the  ancient 
goddess  of  the  waves. 

There  was  something  of  maddened  frenzy  in  the  con- 
flict of  emotions  with  which  Ottorino  watched  these  seem- 
ingly irrefragable  signs  of  kindled  passion,  these  prepa- 
rations for  the  reception  of  a  monstrous  rival.  And  he 
who  approached  came  as  stealthily  as  a  leopard;  yet 
his  footfall  was  sufficiently  audible  to  the  lady;  she  did 
not,  however,  look  in  the  direction  whence  it  proceeded, 
but  began  to  murmur  a  little  melody. 

The  form  of  a  cavalier,  splendidly  garbed  and  wearing 
a  mask,  now  appeared  in  the  far-off  background,  and 
paused  for  an  instant  as  if  to  survey  the  interior.  It  was 
a  moment  of  almost  mortal  agony  for  Ottorino,  who  drew 
himself  up,  clutching  his  poniard,  resolved  to  rush  forth 
despite  pool  and  rocks  and  obstacles,  and  interrupt  the 


2o8  Castel  ^cl  /iDontc 

tete-a-tete.  But  his  purpose  suffered  a  sudden  check 
because  of  an  exclamation  of  joy  from  the  woman.  The 
Lombard's  heart  stood  still  as  he  beheld  the  intruder 
holding  both  her  hands  in  his  own,  while  kneeling  at  her 
feet  he  murmured  unintelligible  words  in  most  loverlike 
and  dulcet  accents. 

But  who  was  the  favoured  one  now  speaking  in  such 
rapt  tones,  and  who  received  such  flattering  attention 
from  the  nymph  of  the  grotto?  Slowly  his  arm  stole 
around  her;  she  bent  low  to  him,  abandoning  herself 
to  his  embrace ;  now  he  touched  her  mask,  still  she 
offered  no  resistance.  Breathlessly  Ottorino  bent  for- 
ward to  gain  a  glimpse  of  her  unmasked  face,  when 
without  warning,  as  if  by  a  magic  device,  every  ray  of 
light  vanished  and  the  grotto  and  its  mysterious  inmates 
were  wrapped  in  Stygian  darkness. 

The  Lombard  adopted  the  only  course  now  open  to 
him,  speeding  dexterously  from  his  concealment  and  seek- 
ing with  all  possible  haste  the  open  air.  A  tremor  had 
seized  him,  and  he  quaked  with  abject  fear,  as  if  he  had 
encountered  a  denizen  of  the  spectre  world.  His  spirit 
was  broken  ;  the  sight  which  had  met  his  gaze  had  proven 
too  much.  He  found  himself  face  to  face  with  a  problem 
which  it  was  not  for  him  to  solve ;  a  faithlessness  and 
coquetry  unparalleled  in  the  annals  of  mankind.  Artfully 
she  had  avoided  him  since  that  fateful  night  at  Favara, 
and  now  she  had  filled  up  the  measure  by  bidding  him 
hither  to  witness  the  triumph  of  a  rival.  The  dream  of 
love  was  over,  and  the  end  —  what  would  it  be  ? 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  TRYST 


Almost  at  the  hour  when  Ottorino  had  entered  the 
vale  of  Proserpina  from  its  western  approach,  a  woman, 
muffled  and  masked,  followed  by  a  man  who,  wrapped  in  a 
dark  mantle,  silently  tracked  her  footsteps  on  the  soft, 
velvety  greensward,  was  swiftly  approaching  the  grotto 
from  the  opposite  direction. 

After  arriving  at  the  vine-covered  entrance,  the  woman, 
glancing  fearfully  first  in  one  direction,  then  another,  sank 
exhausted  upon  a  projecting  ledge  of  rock.  She  had  not 
been  there  long  enough  even  to  indicate  the  purpose  of 
her  presence  before  her  masked  follower,  appearing  sud- 
denly and  stealthily  from  behind  the  rose  thicket,  knelt  at 
her  feet  and  poured  forth  a  torrent  of  passionate  con- 
fessions. She  shrank  back  with  a  cry  of  terror  and 
would  have  fled  if  his  presence  had  not  obstructed  the 
only  path  leading  from  the  vale. 

"  'Tis  false  —  'tis  false,  cavalier.  I  await  no  one,  or 
but  my  mistress,  the  lady  of  Miraval,  who  will  be  here 
in  an  instant,"  exclaimed  the  woman,  in  a  terrified  tone. 
"  Begone  —  begone !  We  are  not  so  lonely  as  you  think, 
and  I  would  not  that  any  one  find  you  here  with  me  for 
all  I  own  or  hope  in  earth  or  heaven." 

"  Hush,  hush,  my  fairest  unknown !  What  know  you 
of  me,  that  you  thus  deprecate  my  society?    Am  I  not 

209 


2IO  Castel  &el  /IDonte 

as  acceptable  as  the  one  whom  I  chanced  to  overhear 
as  he  scorned  the  gentle  invitation  you  did  send  him,  — 
scorned  it  with  loathing  and  abhorrence?  I  bethought 
myself  to  come  in  his  stead,  for  the  bold  in  love  are 
favoured  by  Venus  for  the  sake  of  her  valiant  lover,  the 
god  of  war,"  returned  the  masked  cavalier,  in  light  and 
mocking  tones. 

"  Scorn  —  loathing  —  abhorrence !  "  exclaimed  the 
woman,  in  half-stifled  accents.  "  It  is  impossible,  —  and 
yet,  —  why,  then,  —  why,  then,  I  am  glad,  —  no,  I  meant 
not  that,  not  that,  —  I  desired  but  to  learn  the  cause 
of  the  knight's  strange  actions  why  —  why  he  has  even  re- 
fused a  reply  to  my  mistress's  most  urgent  appeal,  that 
she  may  —  take  revenge  and  —  " 

The  cavalier  laughed. 

"  Your  mistress  will  do  like  great  kings  detected  in 
base  policies,  —  she  will  deny  her  envoy,"  he  then  replied, 
in  a  strange  tone.  "  And  I  tell  you  if  you  but  dare  again 
to  soil  her  dignity  even  with  an  imputed  share  in  your 
offence,  I  will  trumpet  your  shame  to  all  Christendom, 
and  tell  to  all  the  world  that  you  have  not  blushed  to 
lure  an  unwilling  stranger  to  your  arms !  Would  not 
such  a  tale  renown  you  farther  than  many  another  dark 
supposal  now  floating  on  the  wings  of  night  ?  Ah !  Do 
not  shudder  nor  contemplate  aught  frantical,  fairest  of 
all  Eve's  daughters!  I  mean  not  to  pry  behind  your 
mask.  But  you  shall  not  waste  your  beauty  and  this 
loving  hour  because  spurned  by  one,  as  long  as  the  fire 
of  passion  flows  in  the  veins  of  another." 

"  You  shall  not  need  to  pry  behind  my  mask  —  behold, 
here  is  my  face,"  the  woman  interrupted  the  speaker, 
while  with  a  laugh  of  unutterable  scorn  and  fury  she 
tore  the  cover  from  her  face,  revealing  Helena  di  Miraval, 
pale  as  death,  her  eyes  flaming,  her  features  alight  with 


passions,  the  more  terrible  from  the  contrast  of  their 
fierceness  with  her  beauty. 

"  Ferrando  —  you  know  me  now !  Depart,  if  you 
would  not  have  me  summon  my  guards,  as  at  the  least 
utterance  I  can,"  she  exclaimed,  as  the  Duke  of  Alta- 
mura,  feigning  great  surprise,  started  up  at  her  speech. 
"  Go !  I  defy  you !  Go  with  your  tale  to  whomsoever 
you  will,  for  to  disprove  it  one  word  of  these  lips  would 
suffice." 

A  laugh  of  irony  broke  from  the  duke's  lips. 

"  So  our  fair  kinswoman,  who  holds  her  head  so 
proud  and  high,  is  really  and  veritably  here  on  a  rendez- 
vous with  the  Lx>mbard,  who  in  language  plainer  than 
words  has  shown  his  aversion,  his  disdain,  his  scorn, 
whose  self-appointed  task  it  is  to  track  our  steps,  to 
haunt  our  sleep  —  " 

"  And  what  if  it  be  so  ?  What  right  have  you  to  dis- 
pute my  pleasure  ? "  interrupted  Helena,  passionately. 
"  Who  are  you  that  you  presume  to  dog  my  steps,  to 
compel  my  choice?  Are  you  father  —  husband  — 
brother  —  or  even  —  ah!  Monster  that  you  are!  Oh, 
that  these  eyes  may  behold  the  day  when  your  neck 
will  feel  the  edge  of  the  axe,  which  it  has  deserved  so 
long!" 

"  I  was  mad  once !  Delirious  with  the  fever  of  my 
toils  to  raise  the  name  of  Altamura  to  the  proudest  title 
in  Italy,  I  raved  —  and  it  is  Helena  who  reproaches  me 
with  my  sufferings,"  said  the  duke,  in  a  tone  compounded 
of  anger,  fear,  and  feigned  contrition. 

The  lady  of  Miraval  glanced  at  him  one  brief  moment 
as  if  her  feelings  wavered,  but  there  was  something  in 
his  face  which  roused  her  temper  to  its  extremest  limits. 

"  Begone  —  for  the  last  time  —  begone !  "  she  said, 
while  her  dilated  nostrils  and  flaming  eyes  told  him  that 


8X3  Castel  bcl  /l>onte 

he  had  reached  that  extreme  beyond  which  not  even  the 
Duke  of  Altamura  dared  to  go,  "  or,  by  the  everlasting 
judgment,  I  shall  cry  out  to  the  guards." 

"  To  the  guards  ?  To  the  guards  ?  "  replied  the  duke, 
with  a  livid  smile,  of  which  only  himself  and  the  evil 
fiend  seemed  capable.  "Are  you  not  more  afraid  that 
some  other  may  hear  it?  Remember  Enrico's  doom 
and  do  not  you  bid  me  tremble,  but  tremble  yourself  for 
your  minion !  " 

"  Ah !  Miscreant  and  fiend !  What  if  I  told  the  king  ? 
But  of  what  shall  I  accuse  you?  The  devils  themselves 
know  no  name  for  your  crimes." 

"  Accuse  me  to  him,  fairest  of  women,  accuse,  if  you 
think  that  your  charms  can  wield  the  thunder  of  majesty 
according  to  your  liking,"  the  duke  replied,  with  a  heinous 
smile.  "  Let  him  cast  another  into  the  gory  grave  of 
him  who  died  so  suddenly  in  the  —  who  knows  where? 
Do  you,  Helena  cara?  Or  of  him  who  was  cured  of  his 
suspicions  under  his  own  paternal  roof  —  not  ours." 

"  I  will  not  call  you  any  monster,  —  I  know  of  none 
I  could  compare  you  with,"  said  Helena,  with  forced 
calmness,  "  but  hearken  to  me  at  least  in  this  matter !  " 

She  paused  a  moment  as  if  summoning  a  supreme 
resolution,  then  she  continued: 

"  Do  you  hear  me,  Ferrando  ?  I  dared  not  tell  it  to 
my  own  heart,  no,  nor  the  heavens  themselves,  —  I  dared 
not  believe  it,  yet  I  thought  that  of  these  horrors  you 
were  not  so  ignorant  as  the  merciless  steel  which  wrought 
them.  But  hearken  to  me!  If  but  one  hair  on  the 
Visconti's  head  be  harmed,  rest  you  assured  that  I  will 
live  but  to  avenge  it,  and  that  I  shall  be  at  no  loss  to 
tell  what  hand  has  struck  the  blow,  though  it  be  in  the 
murkiest  midnight  that  ever  covered  your  hideous  en- 
terprises." 


"  I  know  your  vengeance,  fair  Helena,  —  I  know  it 
well!  But  I  shall  not  perish  so  dovelike  as  my  prede- 
cessor. I  am  not  a  dumb  fish  to  die  without  a  shriek," 
replied  the  duke,  fiercely,  but  with  a  mixture  of  sar- 
castic levity.  "  Ere  I  make  my  graceful  retreat  from 
the  scene,  I  will  confess  not  only  mine  own  offences,  but 
all  that  rumour  imputes  to  your  Grace.  Of  a  surety, 
posterity  will  deem  me  a  most  likely  witness,  and  hu- 
manity in  general  cannot  doubt  when  they  hear  that  death 
stood  by,  the  scrivener  of  my  harangue!  You  know  not 
what  I  am,  but  this  I  will  do  if  your  woman's  temper 
drive  me  to  it." 

"They  will  call  you  in  death  what  you  have  been  in 
life  —  a  monster,"  replied  Helena,  in  a  wavering  tone, 
as  if  her  own  mind  were  reeling  under  the  too  heavy 
blow  and  burden  of  anguish ;  then  she  continued : 

"  Nay !  Perhaps  with  the  springs  of  your  direful 
existence  would  be  exhausted  that  of  mine  ignominy; 
and  he  who  first  gave  forth  the  sound  might  perish  with 
its  last  echo  on  his  lips.  They  cannot  believe  it  —  they 
cannot  believe  it !  " 

"  Cannot  ?  Cannot  ?  Pray,  and  how  did  your  noble 
cavalier  look  when  -he  became  first  aware  of  our  con- 
nection ?  "  said  the  merciless  duke. 

"  He  looked  as  I  would  have  him  look,  believing  your 
measureless  lies.  For  yes  —  yes,  they  are  yours !  Never 
till  that  hour  when  you  did  reveal  yourself  to  be  the  fiend 
had  calumny  herself  breathed  evil  word  of  me,"  said 
Helena,  distractedly.  But,  struck  with  a  dark  change  in 
the  duke's  countenance,  she  continued,  almost  implor- 
ingly :  "  But  no,  no !  Perchance  I  am  harsh  now,  and 
it  is  my  evil  fate  alone.  Al^!  Let  me  not  drag  more 
victims  into  its  wheels.  What  shall  I  do  then  ?  The  only 
pure  light,  beaming  peace  on  the  troubled  tempest  of 


214  Castcl  &el  /iDonte 

my  soul  would  come  from  a  convent,  —  seclusion  from 
the  world,  —  and  yet  would  even  that  save  me  from 
calumny  ?  " 

"  There  is  but  one  salvation  for  you,  Helena  cara,  — 
but  one,  and  you  know  also  that  it  lies  not  within  the 
dark  walls  of  a  convent,"  the  duke  said,  meaningly. 

A  deadly  pallor  overspread  her  face,  while  her  eyes 
shot  fire. 

"  You  have  my  irrevocable  reply  for  once  and  for  aye, 
and  now,  Ferrando,  I  tell  you  for  the  last  time,  leave  me !  " 

There  was  something  in  her  tone  which  told  the  duke 
he  had  reached  the  limit,  but  he  did  not  intend  to  retreat 
without  leaving  a  memento  of  his  presence. 

"  I  have  your  answer,  you  say,  —  for  good  and  aye  ? 
And  deem  you,  knowing  Ferrando  of  Altamura,  that  he 
will  cast  away  for  a  woman's  whim  the  chances  of  great- 
ness, and  become  the  humble  servitor  of  my  lord  of  the 
Viper  ?  Not  by  all  the  furies  of  hell !  You  will  do  my 
bidding,  if  I  have  to  summon  every  bravo  in  Apulia  to 
drag  you  to  your  bridal-chamber,  and  if  you  still  further 
persist  in  thwarting  my  plans,  the  head  of  Medusa  shall 
appear  as  that  of  a  Vestal  compared  to  the  halo  I  shall 
weave  around  your  brow !  Thi3  is  our  last  word,  Helena 
di  Miraval,  —  our  last !  " 

The  lady  of  Miraval  had  risen  to  her  feet,  and  her 
fingers  convulsively  clutched  the  hilt  of  a  small  dagger 
which  she  carried  concealed  under  her  gown.  The  duke 
watched  her  closely,  retreating  a  step  or  two. 

"  I  will  leave  you  to  yourself  now,  fairest  Helena,  —  to 
yourself  truly,  for  he,  whom  you  so  eagerly  await,  has 
even  now  some  other  sheep  in  mind:  thus  do  I  cheat 
you  out  of  the  last  comfort,  that  he  has  ever  loved 
you!" 

"  That  he  has  ever  loved  me  ?  "  she  laughed,  shrilly. 


"  What  knows  a  ghoul  Uke  Ferrando  of  Altamura  of  the 
meaning  of  love  ?  " 

The  duke's  face  turned  livid. 

"  Little  at  best,  but  enough  to  know  when  other  peo- 
ple's loves  conflict  with  my  plans.  I  had  your  tall  and 
melancholy  Lombard  too  well  watched  not  to  know 
that  a  certain  fairy  at  the  feast,  in  the  garb  of  Fata 
Morgana,  whom  doubtlessly  you  did  also  behold,  and  of 
whose  acquaintance  I  too  can  boast,  has  invited  him  to 
sup  with  her  to-night  in  this  very  grotto,  at  the  entrance 
of  which  we  are  now  holding  discourse !  " 

"  And  if  this  be  true,  —  why  —  what  is  it  to  me  ?  But 
no,  no!  It  is  one  of  your  monstrous  lies,  born  in  the 
deepest  pool  of  your  black  crimes.  It  cannot  be  —  it 
cannot  be !  " 

"  Cannot  ?  "  repeated  the  duke,  with  a  derisive  sneer. 
"  Cannot  ?  Why  then  has  your  sentimental  Lombard 
disdained  even  to  vouchsafe  a  courteous  reply  to  your 
entreaties?    For  I  know  this  was  not  your  first." 

"  Perhaps  because  he  disdains  to  mingle  the  unstained 
honours  of  his  ancestry  with  the  bastard  blood  of  Al- 
tamura," she  exclaimed,  rejoicing  to  give  her  retort  the 
desired  sting,  though  she  herself  shared  the  venom. 

"  For  which  ere  many  moons  I  will  cut  his  throat 
and  make  him  prey  of  all  the  carrion  flies  that  ever 
thronged  on  dunghill,"  said  the  duke,  with  exceeding 
fierceness.  "  But  you  prate  and  your  knight  has  sent 
you  on  a  fool's  errand.  He  will  not  come,  even  though 
you  warble  as  sweetly  as  a  nightingale  luring  its  mate." 

Altamura  suddenly  paused,  listening  to  a  sound  as  of 
remote  footsteps,  which  for  a  time  seemed  to  approach 
from  the  cavern,  then  receded  in  an  opposite  direction. 

"  You  are  still  doubtful  ?  "  the  duke  continued,  mock- 
ingly.    "  Let  me  for  once  and  all  dispel  your  vagaries 


ai6  Castel  &el  /iDonte 

and  visions.  Come !  "  He  spoke  almost  fiercely,  while  he 
beckoned  to  her,  to  follow  him. 

The  duke's  determined  manner,  and  the  apparent  plausi- 
bility of  disappointment  for  the  time  even  subdued  Hele- 
na's haughty  spirit;  she  moved  not,  but  her  doubting, 
questioning  gaze  told  him  that  his  words  had  not  lost 
their  meaning  upon  her. 

"  Follow  me,  —  and  if  I  do  not  furnish  you  all  the  proof 
and  more  of  your  lover's  infidelity,  then  may  you  call 
the  Duke  of  Altamura  a  churl !  But  one  condition  I  im- 
pose,—  that  when,  with  your  own  eyes,  you  have  con- 
vinced yourself  of  your  folly,  then  will  you  look  favour- 
ably upon  my  request  ?  " 

"  Where  will  you  lead  me  to  ? "  faltered  Helena  di 
Miraval,  while  her  hands  clasped  her  throat  as  if  she  were 
choking. 

"  You  shall  not  have  far  to  go,"  the  duke  responded, 
pointing  to  the  grotto.  "  The  cupids  are  even  now 
spreading  their  wings  over  the  couch,  from  which  your 
gallant  lover  and  the  fairy  Morgana  have  chased  the 
vestal  nymphs ! " 

With  these  words  the  duke,  hastening  in  advance  of 
the  lady,  whom  he  knew  to  be  following,  approached  the 
dark  entrance  to  the  grotto,  the  centre  of  which,  illumi- 
nated as  it  was,  presented  to  their  sight  the  same  strange 
spectacle  Ottorino  was  even  now  beholding  from  his 
hiding-place  in  the  other  channel  of  the  cavern.  Altamura 
spoke  not,  but,  drawing  Helena  to  his  side,  pointed  with 
a  triumphant  smile  to  the  couple,  his  countenance  al- 
ternately depicting  ire  and  derision.  Helena's  hand  had 
gone  to  her  heart;  she  thought  she  could  hear  its  wild 
throbbing  in  the  dead  stillness  of  the  spot ;  her  face  was 
pale  as  death  and  her  teeth  set.  Slowly  she  bent  for- 
ward, shadowing  her  eyes  with  her  hand;    slowly  she 


penetrated  into  the  darkness  of  the  cavern,  and  so  im- 
perceptibly she  moved  that  the  duke  hardly  noticed  that 
she  was  gliding  away  from  him,  so  busily  did  he  feast 
his  gaze  upon  her  matchless  form.  Slowly,  almost  un- 
consciously, he  followed,  until  a  ledge  of  rock,  rising  per- 
pendicularly from  a  pool  in  the  murky  deep,  barred  fur- 
ther advance.  The  duke  saw  not  the  storm  of  passions 
which  swept  over  his  kinswoman's  face,  as,  creeping 
closer  and  closer,  she  saw  the  last  semblance  to  Ottorino 
vanish  in  the  kneeling  form  of  the  man;  but  with  the 
disappearance  of  its  faintest  trace  a  fear,  horrible  beyond 
conception,  struck  her  soul.  She  heard  the  stealthy  tread 
of  the  duke  behind  her,  and,  appearing  so  completely 
absorbed  in  the  strange  spectacle  as  to  be  utterly  oblivious 
to  all  else,  Helena  strained  every  nerve  in  the  frantic 
effort  of  discovering  a  means  of  escape.  What  mattered 
the  personality  of  the  woman !  The  cavalier  was  not  the 
Visconti,  and  in  the  midst  of  her  quaking  fears  she 
begged  Ottorino's  forgiveness  in  her  heart. 

Suddenly  the  mask  fell  from  the  face  of  the  nymph, 
and,  choosing  this  moment,  Helena  uttered  an  outcry 
which  reechoed  through  the  caverns  of  the  grotto,  like 
the  shrill  laughter  of  a  thousand  demons,  then,  turning 
upon  the  duke  with  equal  suddenness,  she  pushed  him 
aside  with  such  headlong  violence  that,  taken  unawares, 
he  stumbled  and  fell.  Helena  rushed  from  the  grotto,  and 
at  almost  the  same  moment  its  radiance  was  changed  to 
Stygian  darkness.  With  a  wild  oath  the  duke  struggled 
to  his  feet  and  groped  his  way  through  the  gloom  of  the 
cavern.  Moving  step  by  step,  he  finally  succeeded  in 
reaching  its  half-concealed  entrance,  where  he  stood  pant- 
ing, cursing  heaven  and  earth  and  all  generations  of 
men,  the  sea,  the  stars,  and  the  saints,  the  whole  fair 
sex  collectively,  and  his  fair  kinswoman  in  particular. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

LEILA 

The  moon  shone  brightly  in  the  dark,  clear  azure  of 
the  heavens,  rendering  distinct  even  the  remotest  objects, 
but  Ottorino  was  filled  with  thoughts  as  dark  as  the  ruins 
which  bordered  his  path.  As  he  came  from  the  vale  of 
Proserpine  he  was  startled  to  see  a  solitary  horseman 
wrapped  in  a  long  Spanish  mantle.  The  cloak  reached 
to  his  stirrups,  and  a  broad-brimmed  hat  covered  his 
head,  shading  eyes  and  face  almost  beyond  recognition. 
The  horseman  seemed  absorbed  in  some  object  across 
the  bay,  and  so  immobile  was  the  attitude  of  rider  and 
beast  that  one  might  have  mistaken  them  for  an  eques- 
trian statue.  Without  paying  further  heed  to  the  strange 
apparition,  the  Lombard,  guided  by  the  beacon  light  on 
the  Campanile,  slowly  made  his  way  toward  the  city. 
His  feelings  were  strung  to  a  tension  which  deprived  his 
mind  of  its  last  remnants  of  peace  and  tranquillity,  and 
his  resolve  to  break  the  fatal  spell  with  one  determined 
stroke  wavered  almost  in  its  inception. 

The  streets  of  Palermo  were  still  enlivened  by  a  merry 
throng,  determined  to  prolong  the  pageant  of  the  waning 
night  till  the  gray  dawn  of  the  rising  day.  The  moon- 
light cast  its  pale  rays  over  the  flat  roofs  of  the  white 
Oriental  dwellings,  and  shone  on  the  cupolas  and  minarets 

218 


Xeila  319 

whose  slender  spires  seemed  to  touch  the  very  stars  in 
the  illusion  of  the  summer  night. 

It  was  more  especially  the  rabble  of  the  city,  who  had 
chosen  the  late  hours  for  their  sports  and  pastimes.  Ot- 
torino  passed  unmolested  through  the  dense  crowds,  and 
continued  upon  his  way  until  he  found  himself  opposite 
the  Moorish  palace  of  La  Kufa.  A  large  crowd  had 
gathered  here,  surrounding  a  woman  seated  astride  an 
ass.  Her  face  was  turned  toward  the  tail  and  her  feet 
were  tied  together.  Two  sbirri  led  the  strangely  bur- 
dened beast.  Some  hallucination  doubtlessly  possessed 
the  woman,  for  although  the  rabble  kept  up  a  continual 
sullen  roar  of  derision,  her  features  were  elate  with  joy 
and  triumph,  as  if  she  were  the  chief  personage  of  this 
fine  procession. 

Ottorino  made  his  way  through  all  the  throng  to  the 
sbirri,  and,  upon  beholding  and  recognizing  the  unfor- 
tunate creature,  inquired  what  she  had  done  to  be  thus 
ill-treated 

"  It  is  a  Moorish  harlot,  signor,  who  lures  good  Chris- 
tian people  into  her  nets,"  replied  one  of  the  axemen. 

"  We  are  leading  her  to  the  prefecture  for  punishment," 
said  the  second. 

"  Cut  her  to  pieces,  the  infidel  witch,  who  brings  the 
plague  among  us,"  yelled  a  woman. 

Two  stout  ruffians,  seemingly  retainers  of  some  great 
house,  drew  their  daggers,  shouting,  "  Death !  Death !  " 
and  such  a  gibbering  tumult  arose  that  for  some  moments 
it  was  barely  possible  to  distinguish  a  word  that  was 
said. 

"  Peace !  Peace !  "  thundered  Ottorino,  stepping  in 
front  of  the  sbirri,  and  at  this  unexpected  sight  the 
uproar  ceased. 

"Valiant  sbirri,  mark  you  not  that  the  poor  girl  is 


220  Castel  &el  /©ontc 

mad,  —  bereft  of  reason  ?  "  -said  the  Visconti,  addressing 
her  captors.  "  Leave  her  to  my  care  and  I  will  see  her 
restored  to  her  home  without  offence  to  any  good  Chris- 
tian." 

A  universal  shout  of  laughter  rose  in  the  air,  indicating 
what  the  populace  deemed  of  this  proposal.  The  Moorish 
girl  turned  at  the  sound  of  Ottorino's  voice  and  seemed 
to  recognize  her  would-be  deliverer,  for  she  clapped  her 
hands  in  delight. 

"  *Tis  he,  'tis  he ! "  she  exclaimed,  rejoicingly.  "  I 
have  kept  my  word,  you  see !  Lead  me  to  him !  Where 
is  Enrico?  For  were  I  ten  times  a  queen  I  would  but 
be  his  servant  and  loving  slave !  " 

Whether  the  ass,  like  Balaam's,  was  gifted  with 
human  understanding,  and  upon  hearing  these  words  felt 
justly  elate,  or  whether  it  was  simply  the  impulse  of  the 
beast,  its  voice  rose  in  the  air  and  spoke  to  the  multitudes, 
and  it  was  some  time  ere  the  sbirri  with  their  clubs  could 
silence  its  oratorical  efforts. 

"  Shame,  shame !  so  knightly  a  man  to  take  the  part 
of  such  a  one,"  remarked  the  woman  who  had  spoken. 
"  But  her  philtres  and  love-draughts  have  bewitched 
him." 

"  Death  to  the  witch !  "  again  resounded  on  all  sides. 

"  Patience,  good  people,  patience,"  urged  the  knight, 
unsheathing  his  sword.  "  Whoever  approaches  within  the 
length  of  this  weapon  shall  taste  of  its  edge!  I  tell  you 
again,  this  young  girl  is  mad,  bereft  of  that  reason  which 
you  bear  so  proudly  and  which  almost  distinguishes  you 
from  this  gray,  braying  brute!  But  to  content  you,  I 
will  obtain  her  dismissal  from  some  competent  authority." 

The  awe  which  the  power  and  tyranny  of  the  nobles 
and  military  had  infused  in  the  minds  of  the  common 
people  befriended  Ottorino  on  this  occasion.    Murmurs 


Xetla  22  X 

indeed  arose,  and  indistinct  expressions  of  anger  and 
disappointment,  but  no  one  offered  any  serious  inter- 
ference. The  Visconti  cut  the  thongs  which  fastened  the 
poor  girl's  feet,  made  her  turn  to  a  more  decent  and 
feminine  attitude,  and  took  the  ass  by  the  halter,  desir- 
ing the  sbirri  to  keep  on  each  side.  The  intention  of 
the  Lombard  was  not,  however,  to  take  the  prisoner  to 
the  prefecture,  but  before  a  higher  tribunal.  Leila,  how- 
ever, seemed  likely  to  baffle  his  intent.  Knowing  nothing 
of  her  deliverer's  plan  for  discovering  the  assassin  of  her 
lover,  she  believed  that  she  was  being  escorted  in  triumph 
to  her  Enrico's  palace.  Her  satisfaction  was  so  com- 
plete that  it  seemed  a  cruelty  to  attempt  to  break  the 
illusion  on  which  it  was  founded.  Every  object  in  turn 
attracted  her  delighted  notion;  she  petted  the  ass  and 
kissed  her  hands  incessantly  at  the  mob,  in  acknowledg- 
ment of  their  civility  in  accompanying  her,  but  which 
they  took  to  be  a  mockery  of  their  baffled  fury. 

The  whispers  in  which  Ottorino  endeavoured  to  recall 
her  wandering  mind  heightened  the  suspicions  and  in- 
dignation of  the  populace  to  the  highest  degree.  But 
his  efforts  to  dispel  the  hallucinations  which  possessed 
her  were  in  vain ;  every  stately  building  which  they  ap- 
proached she  concluded  to  be  the  palace  of  her  unknown 
lover,  and  she  stared  with  amazement  when  they  passed 
without  beholding  him.  The  glittering  confusion  sur- 
rounding her  was  a  festive  pomp  prepared  for  her  re- 
ception, and  the  splendid  groups  appearing  and  disap- 
pearing at  intervals  convinced  her  that  they  were  at 
length  approaching  her  lover's  presence. 

"  How  may  that  be,  Leila  ?  "  urged  the  Visconti,  labour- 
ing to  combat  her  visions.  "  Have  you  not  told  me  your 
lover  is  dead,  —  slain  by  assassins  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  dream  —  it  was  a  dream !     I  often  have 


222  Castel  &el  /Donte 

fearful  dreams,  for  I  knew  the  witches  would  slay  him 
if  they  ever  saw  his  shadow,"  she  replied,  impatiently. 
"  But  we  shall  easily  know  him,  —  there  was  none  other 
like  him,  —  none  other." 

Reduced  to  despair  as  he  realized  that  no  appeal  to 
the  realities  of  the  scene  could  restore  his  demented 
charge  to  sanity,  the  Visconti  was  scarcely  sorry  to  ob- 
serve that  they  were  fast  approaching  the  terrace,  to 
which  the  court  was  wont  to  retire  after  sunset.  It  was 
evident  that  they  were  descried  from  it,  for  an  officer 
received  some  orders  and  rode  toward  them,  shouting  in 
harsh  and  imperative  tones : 

"Halt!     Halt!" 

The  Lombard  immediately  obeyed,  but  the  populace 
raised  a  tempest  of  cries,  explanations,  and  demands  for 
vengeance  which  drowned  every  distinct  sound. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  the  foul  fiend  is  this,  scum," 
growled  the  horseman,  still  advancing,  "  that  you  break 
into  the  king's  siesta  with  your  rude  clamour?  What 
have  we  here,  speak ! " 

The  commander's  visor  was  raised,  and  Ottorino  per- 
ceived that  his  sallow  complexion  grew  nearly  bloodless 
as  he  looked  at  the  young  Moorish  girl.  But  before  the 
Lombard  could  make  any  reply,  Leila  uttered  a  joyful 
cry  of  recognition,  and  exclaimed : 

"  Take  me  to  him  I  Take  me  to  him !  He  is  near  now, 
for  here  is  the  stranger  that  brought  me  tidings  from 
Enrico." 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  stammered  the  rider,  staring  around 
in  mingled  terror  and  amazement. 

A  hundred  voices  began  to  reply,  but  the  Visconti's 
quickly  overpowered   even  this   numerous  rivalry. 

"  This  girl  is  mad,  senor,"  he  said,  laying  stress  on  the 
Spanish  appellative,  "  yet  not  so  mad  but  that  it  is  to 


Xctla  223 

be  discerned  that  she  has  suffered  a  grievous  wrong, 
either  from  her  own  people  or  some  monstrous  villain, 
and  I  have  promised  to  lead  her  before  the  king  him- 
self, to  demand  justice." 

"  I  am  not  mad !  Did  you  not  come,  good  Chris- 
tian, to  lead  me  to  my  lord  ?  "  said  Leila,  angrily,  and 
looking  with  the  eagerness  of  hope  at  the  grim  visage 
of  Don  Crivello,  the  Catalan. 

"  How  came  this  woman  here  ?  "  the  latter  exclaimed, 
after  a  brief  pause. 

"  She  stole  forth  to  view  the  pageant,  unless  it  was  to 
meet  her  paramour,  this  valiant  knight,"  cried  a  voice  in 
the  crowd. 

Crivello's  brow  contracted  as  he  turned  to  one  of  the 
sbirri  and  demanded  an  account  of  the  matter. 

"Truly,  my  lord,  so  it  seems,  —  and  she  appears  to 
know  this  knight,  for  he  rushed  against  all  odds  to  her 
rescue." 

Ottorino  noted  the  deadly  glare  which  flashed  upon 
him  from  the  Spaniard's  eyes,  but  he  remained  calm  and 
determined. 

"  It  is  death  for  any  woman  of  this  wench's  trade  to 
leave  her  lair  after  dark,"  the  Catalan  growled  between 
his  set  teeth.  "  Go  your  way  in  peace,  cavalier,  and  leave 
the  harlot  to  the  punishment  that  befits  her  offence! 
Stand  off,  ho !  and  whip  her  back  from  whence  she  came, 
but  grant  her  fair  way,  that  she  may  make  the  best  of 
her  noble  courser's  speed." 

Universal  applause  greeted  this  proposition.  Leila 
stared  at  the  Catalan  in  vacant  surprise  and  bewilder- 
ment. Ottorino,  however,  was  determined  to  baffle  the 
ruffian's  intent,  even  if  he  had  to  stand  alone  against  the 
whole  rabble. 

"  This  shall  not  be,  senor,"  he  interposed,  a  firm  reso- 


224  Cartel  Del  /ftonte 

lution  ringing  in  his  voice,  "at  least,  not  until  the  king 
has  heard  her  complaint.  Some  foul  play  has  been 
wrought  against  her,  —  her  lover  slain  in  her  arms, — 
she  shall  have  justice." 

"  It  is  false !  "  replied  Crivello,  with  difficulty  bridling 
his  wrath.  "  It  chances  that  I  know  something  of  the 
ways  of  her  kind !  She  thrusts  her  poisonous  presence 
on  honest  Christians,  —  but  since  she  is  your  paramour, 
signor,  the  only  way  to  show  your  kindness  now  is  to 
drive  her  back  to  whence  she  came,  for  until  she  reaches 
her  dive  I  give  lawful  leave  to  every  man  to  wreak  his 
scorn  upon  her." 

"  Stand  back,  cur ! "  thundered  Ottorino,  raising  his 
sword,  "  and  bar  not  the  way,  for  I  will  make  it  through 
an  army  rather  than  suffer  your  bloodthirsty  malice  to 
prevail." 

"  What  malice  have  I  against  the  wench  ?  "  returned 
the  Catalan,  his  complexion  resuming  its  leaden  tints  be- 
neath the  Lombard's  penetrating  gaze.  "  Woman  —  hast 
thou  ever  seen  me  before,  or  I  thee,  that  I  should  bear 
thee  malice  ?  " 

The  Castellan  of  the  Torre  del  Diavolo  had  certainly 
not  noticed  the  strange  expression  on  the  Moorish  girl's 
countenance,  but  when  he  turned  and  looked  at  her  with 
his  fierce,  protruding  eyes,  she  uttered  a  shriek  which 
rang  over  the  heads  of  the  thousands,  and  with  a  hiss, 
as  if  to  frighten  away  some  direful  apparition,  she  shouted 
"  Murderer !  "  till  the  very  skies  seemed  to  echo  with  the 
crimson  word. 

"  Upon  her !  Hack  her  to  pieces !  It  is  the  law,  and 
I  will  see  it  justified.  Harm  not  the  knight,  but  death 
to  the  harlot !  "  roared  Crivello,  spurring  his  horse  toward 
her,  but,  coming  between  the  Catalan  and  his  intended 


Xetla  325 

victim,  Ottorino  waved  his  long  sword  and  soon  cleared  a 
circle  to  some  distance. 

"  Approach  at  your  peril ! "  he  cried  to  Crivello,  who 
involuntarily  receded  before  the  wrath  he  had  engen- 
dered. The  mob,  recovering  from  their  momentary 
stupor,  and  encouraging  each  other  with  loud  shouts 
of  fury,  drew  their  daggers  and  were  certainly  medi- 
tating an  onset.  But  just  then  a  Saracen  officer  with  half 
a  dozen  men  appeared  upon  the  scene,  with  the  order  to 
command  peace  and  to  conduct  the  offenders  before  the 
king. 

"  'Tis  where  we  were  bound,  when  yonder  insolent 
impeded  our  advance,"  replied  the  Visconti,  pointing  to 
Crivello,  who  drew  back  at  the  impeachment,  fearful  of 
offering  further  opposition. 

Lifting  Leila  from  the  ass  and  half-carrying  her, 
Ottorino  made  his  way  to  the  terrace  through  the  now 
unresisting  crowds. 

"  Remember  all  your  story  now,  your  Enrico's  murder, 
and  demand  justice  at  the  feet  of  the  kindest  of  rulers, 
before  whom  I  will  bring  you,"  he  exhorted  the  trembling 
gpirl,  as  they  mounted  the  marble  stairs ;  and  Leila,  whose 
recollections  were  now  rekindled,  cried  "  Murder !  Mur- 
der !  "  and  "  Justice !  Justice !  "  with  frenzied  eagerness 
at  every  step  of  their  advance.  The  attention  of  the  court 
was  staggered  by  the  strange  spectacle  of  a  knight  of  the 
empire  half-leading,  half-carrying  a  Moorish  girl  into 
the  presence  of  the  king.  Manfred  was  seated  in  the 
centre  of  a  glittering  half-moon;  the  court  had  been 
diverted  by  the  glowing  and  fantastic  tales  of  an  Arab 
story-teller,  after  the  conclusion  of  a  "  Mask  of  the 
Gods,"  in  which  each  participant  had  represented  a  deity 
of  antiquity.  At  the  smiling  suggestion  of  the  queen  the 
masks  were  resumed  at  the  approach  of  this  singular 


226  Castel  del  /iDonte 

pageant.  This  circumstance  was  favourable  to  Ottorino's 
intent,  as  he  feared  that  too  sudden  a  recognition  of  the 
murderer  might  prevent  the  hearing  of  the  tale,  and  Leila 
would  seem  only  to  rave.  On  the  other  hand,  however, 
it  raised  an  obstacle  to  his  purpose,  as  he  would  not  be 
able  to  determine  the  presence  of  the  suspected,  but  a 
sudden  idea  occurred  to  him  as  he  approached  the  royal 
dais.  No  one  noticed  the  lightning  exchange  of  glances 
between  Manfred  and  Ottorino,  fraught  with  a  meaning 
known  but  to  themselves,  when  Leila  prostrated  herself 
with  Oriental  homage. 

"  What  part  of  the  pageant  is  this,  and  who  is  the 
author  of  this  surprise  ?  "  the  king  asked  of  the  Lombard. 

"The  king's  Majesty  is  to  know  that  I  have  rescued 
this  poor  mad  creature  from  the  hands  of  certain  ruffians, 
and  I  have  brought  her  here  to  demand  j  ustice  for  a  much 
more  horrible  deed,"  said  Ottorino,  bowing  low,  though 
even  his  stout  heart  quaked,  as,  glancing  from  the  king 
to  the  masked  cavalier  by  his  side,  he  noted  the  glance 
which  the  latter  turned  on  his  suppliant,  a  glance  which 
at  once  convinced  the  knight  of  the  presence  desired. 

"  What  deed  ?  Of  what  speak  you  ?  This  is  neither 
time  nor  place;  the  king's  justices  are  men  of  approved 
integrity !  "  the  masked  cavalier  spoke  up,  and  at  the 
sound  of  his  voice  Leila's  whole  frame  trembled,  while, 
clasping  her  hands  to  her  forehead,  she  glared  fixedly 
at  the  speaker. 

"Formal  justice  is  too  slow  and  —  uncertain.  Three 
years  have  passed  since  the  deed  for  which  we  demand 
redress  was  perpetrated,"  replied  the  Visconti. 

"  Three  years !  "  Manfred  exclaimed.  "  We  will  hear 
and  adjudge  the  matter  on  the  spot.  It  shall  not  be  said 
that  the  ears  of  the  son  of  Frederick  were  ever  closed 


Xeila  227 

to  the  cries  of  his  subjects.  Speak  on,  girl  —  we  hear 
thee !  " 

"  This  much,  then,  I  have  gathered,  King  Manfred," 
Ottorino  replied  in  her  stead.  "  This  hapless  girl  had 
a  Christian  lover  whose  quality  and  name  are  unknown 
to  her,  but  who  called  himself  Enrico,  and  from  her 
confused  report  he  must  have  been  of  very  high  birth." 

"  Enrico,  —  we  have  heard  the  rumour,  but  go  on  — 
go  on  !  "  Manfred  exclaimed,  hurriedly. 

"The  story,  then,  has  reached  the  ears  of  the  king's 
Majesty?"  Ottorino  replied,  with  meaning. 

"Among  many  others,  at  which,  since  our  most  dear 
and  hapless  brother  met  his  mysterious  doom,  we  have 
clutched  in  the  vain  hope  of  obtaining  some  clue  to  the 
guilty." 

"  But  this  whole  story  has  no  other  foundation  than 
the  ravings  of  a  mad  girl,  whose  relatives  declare  that 
she  has  never  left  her  musky  chambers  during  all  her 
life,"  the  masked  cavalier  interposed  in  his  apparent 
effort  to  stop  the  narrative. 

"  Is  the  masked  signor  so  well  informed  ?  "  Ottorino 
turned  to  the  speaker.  "  Or  are  we  to  infer  that  this 
is  not  the  first  time  he  has  met  these  accusing  eyes  ? " 

Then,  noting  the  effect  of  his  speech,  he  continued, 
addressing  the  king : 

"  This  mad  girl  is  now  at  your  feet,  King  Manfred, 
and  I  implore  you  to  listen.  Her  speech  will  be  some- 
what disordered,  as  that  of  one  whose  mind  is  shattered 
by  a  blow,  yet  not  so  wholly  unpieced  but  that  skilled 
eyes  may  join  the  threads  of  the  web." 

"We  will  hear  her,"  Manfred  replied,  in  troubled  yet 
eager  tones.  "Arise,  poor  girl,  and  speak  openly  and 
without  fear!  When  and  how  perished  your  lover, — 
your  Enrico  ?    By  whose  hand  did  he  fall  ?  " 


228  Castel  &el  /iDonte 

Leila  had  continued  kneeling  during  the  entire  dia- 
logue, which  she  scarcely  heard,  so  intently  wrapped  was 
she  in  scrutinizing  the  masked  cavalier,  in  examining  his 
person  and  habiliments.  And  so  absorbed  was  she  in  this 
scrutiny  that  she  started  when  her  protector  gently 
touched  her  to  recall  her  attention. 

"  Now,  Leila,  speak !  Who  was  it  who  slew  your 
Enrico  ?    Speak !    Do  you  remember  ?  " 

"  Where  is  he  ?  Oh !  He  is  gone !  "  she  said,  glanc- 
ing timidly  around  the  whole  brilliant  circle  of  the  court 
and  at  the  crowds,  which  had  surged  to  the  foot  of  the 
terrace,  among  which  Crivello  had  disappeared. 

"  I  never  liked  his  black  bead  eyes,  and  so  I  told 
Enrico,  but  he  loved  me  so,  —  and  he  would  stay !  And 
so  the  moon  was  shining,  —  and  he  was  fast  asleep,  — 
and  first  they  tapped  at  the  door,  —  and  I  would  not 
believe  it,  —  I  thought  it  was  the  wind.  But  they  came, 
—  they  came,  —  I  saw  the  moonshine  on  his  face,  — 
and  I  kissed  his  lips,"  and,  heaving  a  deep  sigh,  the  mad 
girl  relapsed  into  silence. 

"  Now,  Leila  —  Leila  —  remember !  Repeat  the  tale 
you  have  told  me !  Remember  how  they  tore  him  from 
your  arms,  remember  your  cries,  their  cruel  stabs,  his 
writhing  form,  his  long  hair  all  drenched  in  blood,  and 
how  they  dragged  his  body  away !  "  urged  Ottorino. 

With  a  shriek  so  wild  and  despairing  that  it  resounded 
through  the  remotest  recesses  of  the  gardens,  Leila  em- 
braced Manfred's  knees  and  poured  forth  the  dreadful 
revelation  with  such  passionate  vehemence  that,  wild  and 
broken  as  it  was,  the  scene  became  almost  visual  in  the 
painting  of  her  frenzied  imagination. 

"  And  the  murderers  were  masked  ?  "  the  king  ques- 
tioned the  girl. 

"The  king's  Majesty  is  listening  to  a  mad  woman," 


Xeila  229 

the  masked  cavalier  interposed,  in  a  perfectly  composed 
voice.  "  We  are  infinitely  beholden  to  the  noble  Lombard 
for  the  unselfish  interest  he  has  shown  in  the  poor  wench, 
but  "  —  here  he  turned  to  the  girl  —  "  art  thou  sure  thy 
lover  did  not  leave  thee  when  he  had  grown  satiated  with 
thy  charms  ?  " 

"  Where  is  he  ?  Where  is  he  ?  Let  me  but  see  him," 
exclaimed  the  girl,  frantically.  "  He  cannot  be  so  cruel, 
—  let  me  but  see  him !  " 

"  The  king's  Majesty  hears !  Why  should  we  spoil  our 
diversions  by  further  listening  to  this  mad  revelry? 
Who  knows,  —  there  may  be  deeper  instruction  in  this !  " 

And  the  speaker  glanced  malignantly  at  the  Visconti. 

"  Leila,  —  were  all  the  murderers  of  thine  Enrico 
masked?  Did  not  the  mask  fall  from  the  visage  of  the 
chief  one  in  the  struggle?  For  so  she  told  me,  King 
Manfred,"  said  Ottorino,  looking  full  at  the  masked 
cavalier,  who  seemed  strangely  moved. 

"  Is  this  true,  Leila  ?  Didst  thou  behold  the  worse 
than  devilish  visage  of  one  of  the  murderers?"  ex- 
claimed Manfred,  with  a  sudden  wildness  that  contrasted 
strangely  with  his  usual  calm  demeanour. 

"  One,  —  yes,  —  the  scarlet  one !  "  said  Leila,  with 
truly  insane  rapidity,  as  if  she  divined  that  they  were  on 
the  verge  of  a  dire  discovery, 

"  Let  the  king's  Majesty  command  all  present  to  un- 
mask, and  we  shall  see  if  she  recognizes  any  one  in  this 
assembly,"  the  Visconti  urged,  in  stern  but  respectful 
tones. 

"  The  farce  grows  somewhat  dangerous,"  interposed 
the  masked  cavalier,  hurriedly.  "  The  wench's  madness 
is  as  like  to  hit  one  as  it  is  another,  and  thus  darken 
some  innocent  person  for  ever  in  the  king's  grace;  nay, 


230"  Castel  &cl  /iDonte 

she  is  like  enough  to  mark  even  me,  for  look  how  she 
gazes  at  me  and  speaks  of  scarlet  because  I  wear  it." 

"  It  were  indeed  too  hazardous,"  a  woman's  voice  ♦•ang 
out  from  among  the  queen's  retinue. 

Ottorino  started  as  if  a  viper  had  stung  him,  —  but  at 
that  moment  a  noise  and  skirmish  close  by  his  side  dis- 
tracted his  attention.  Two  haggard  old  women  appeared 
on  the  terrace,  struggling,  screaming,  and  pushing  their 
way  through  the  mob,  which  buffeted  them,  plucking 
their  long  gray  hairs  and  yelling,  "The  Moorish  witches  !" 
while  they  in  turn  made  the  air  ring  with  cries  of  "  Leila 
—  Leila  —  mercy  on  our  child,  —  she  is  mad  —  mad  — 
mad!" 

"  Some  of  her  kindred  come  to  rescue  their  wandering 
offspring,"  said  the  king's  masked  counsellor,  laughing 
outright.  "  Here  is  your  lost  lamb,  shepherdesses  of  the 
devil!  Guards,  rescue  them  from  the  mob  and  bring 
them  hither !  " 

The  order  was  given  just  in  time  to  save  the  two 
hags  from  some  violent  mark  of  popular  hatred.  As  it 
was,  when  they  were  dragged  on  the  terrace  they  pre- 
sented an  appearance  so  wild  and  ghastly  that  Leila,  the 
instant  she  saw  them,  cowered  down  like  a  hare  when  the 
hounds  are  upon  it. 

"What  forms  are  these  —  of  purgatory  or  of  hell?" 
sneered  one  of  the  cavaliers  in  attendance,  as  the  two 
Moorish  apothecaries  prostrated  themselves  before  the 
royal  dais. 

"  Of  neither,  as  yet  —  so  please  you,"  replied  he  in  the 
scarlet  suit,  with  an  emphasis  more  than  incidental. 
*'  Speak  without  fear,  good  grandames,  and  tell  us  what 
ails  this  wench,  that  she  shrieks  tales  of  murder  and 
bloodshed  as  if  it  were  the  trade  of  your  family  ?  " 

"We  are  but  two  poor,  deserted  women,"  said  the 


Xeila  231 

older,  raising  herself  with  her  hands  in  a  ghastly  attitude 
of  supplication.  "  And  this  offspring  of  the  faithful  has 
gone  mad  for  the  love  of  a  Christian,  who  deserted  her 
when  the  fruits  of  her  guilt  became  manifest.  She  waked 
one  night  from  a  fearful  dream,  and  would  have  it  that 
he  who  taught  her  sin  and  left  her  remorse  had  been 
foully  slain,  >—  whence  she  fell  into  madness." 

"  Ancient  women !  Name  to  me  the  seducer  of  this 
hapless  creature,  and,  by  the  Almighty  Gk)d,  were  he  the 
proudest  vassal  in  our  kingdom,  he  shall  pay  the  penalty 
of  the  deed,"  said  Manfred,  in  a  voice  trembling  with 
pent-up  wrath. 

"  Master  and  sovereign,  —  he  concealed  all  but  the 
name  —  Enrico  —  from  his  wretched  paramour,  dreading 
the  justice  of  your  laws,"  replied  the  older  of  the  hags, 
with  a  ghastly  smile,  which  gleamed  upon  her  visage  like 
phosphorus  upon  a  skull. 

"  The  punishment  of  death,  —  the  king's  Majesty  holds 
that  the  crime  deserved  it  ? "  said  the  scarlet  cavalier, 
with  slow  emphasis. 

"  Dismiss  the  crones  —  I  am  not  well,"  exclaimed 
Manfred,  gasping  for  breath. 

*'  Remove  your  unhappy  child,  good  ancestresses,"  said 
the  scarlet  cavalier.  "  Methinks,  mad  as  she  is,  she  is 
too  fairly  moulded  to  be  trusted  away  from  your  dusky 
abode.  But  to  you,  signor,  we  are  much  beholden  for 
the  uncommon  zeal  you  have  shown  in  gratifying  the 
great  wish  of  all  our  hearts." 

The  hags  approached  the  shrinking  girl,  who  for  the 
first  time  evinced  abject  fear.  The  Visconti,  although 
he  was  conscious  that  every  eye  in  the  assembly  rested 
upon  him,  and  guessed  at  some  of  the  vile  motives  as- 
cribed to  his  actions,  stepped  toward  the  kneeling  girl 
and,  raising  her,  informed  the  two  hags  that  he  would 


232  Castel  &el  /IDonte 

himself  escort  them  back  to  their  habitation.  Accord- 
ingly, amidst  general  murmurs  of  wonder  and  disap- 
probation, the  entire  group  retired  from  the  royal  pres- 
ence. The  Lombard,  who  had  now  carefully  closed  his 
visor,  supported  the  staggering  steps  of  the  mad  girl,  and 
was  followed  by  the  hags. 

Still  it  might  have  been  difficult  for  the  old  hags  and 
their  charge  to  pass  through  the  enraged  and  muttering 
crowds,  had  not  a  monk  in  the  habit  of  the  Dominicans 
appeared,  who  commanded  the  throngs  with  his  usual 
austerity  and  sway  to  make  way  for  the  Visconti.  With 
his  assistance  they  gradually  cleared  the  piazza,  but  Leila's 
mind  seemed  once  more  vacant  of  all  its  memories  and 
images,  and  she  abandoned  Ottorino's  support,  gamboling 
and  singing  before  him  to  the  great  scandal  of  those 
who  continued  to  gaze  after  them.  The  crones  spoke 
not  a  word,  although  they  continued  to  glower  vindic- 
tively at  their  escort.  When  they  reached  the  gates  of 
the  Moorish  quarter,  they  muttered  a  profusion  of  thanks 
and  blessings,  and  intimated  that  they  were  in  need  of 
the  knight's  services  no  longer.  Fearing  that  much  more 
interference  would  only  exasperate  her  kindred  against 
the  poor  girl,  the  Visconti  admonished  them  to  forgive  the 
strange  vagaries  of  her  disease,  and,  wrapping  his  cloak 
closely  around  him,  he  turned  to  accompany  the  Domin- 
ican back  to  the  city.  To  his  chagrin,  he  found  that  the 
monk  had  disappeared,  and  that  he  was  alone. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   MASS   OF  THE  DOMINICANS 

As  Ottorino  pondered  over  the  extraordinary  events 
which  he  had  witnessed,  fragments  of  the  ferryman's  tale 
leaped  flashlike  through  his  memory.  He  resolved  to 
seek  the  Dominican  in  order  to  learn,  if  possible,  the 
extent  of  Helena  di  Miraval's  guilt  in  a  deed  but  too 
well  suited  to  her  temperament.  No  consideration  but 
revenge  was  to  guide  his  future  course,  and  he  gradually 
worked  himself  up  into  a  frenzy,  in  which  no  argument, 
however  sane,  could  have  prevailed  against  the  turbulent 
passions  which  racked  and  swayed  his  soul. 

Soon  the  Visconti  found  himself  in  the  wilds  of  Monte 
Pellegrino,  and,  recalling  all  the  observations  which  he 
had  made  on  a  previous  visit,  he  followed  the  labyrinth 
of  intricate  corridors  until  he  reached  the  Dominican's 
cell.  It  was  lighted  but  by  a  dimly  flickering  taper,  and 
his  eager  gaze  could  not  discern  the  desired  presence  of 
the  monk,  who  had  most  likely  been  delayed  on  the  way 
to  his  habitation. 

Determined  at  all  hazards  to  await  the  friar's  arrival, 
Ottorino  stretched  his  weary  limbs  on  the  primitive  couch 
of  straw  and  rushes  on  which  he  had  reposed  on  his 
former  visit.  But  as  the  time  passed  and  neither  the 
Dominican  nor  Fra  Cyrillo  entered  the  dismal  abode,  a 
strange  weariness  began  to  creep  over  the  Lombard.    The 

233 


234  Cadtel  Del  /iDonte 

events  of  the  past  hours  flitted  shadow-like  across  his 
mind;  he  endeavoured  to  conjure  before  his  soul  the 
beloved  image  of  his  dreams,  whose  words  of  love  had 
proven  like  the  idle  wind  that  leaves  no  trace,  —  then 
nature  asserted  her  rights.  The  tension  of  his  mind  by 
degrees  relaxed,  his  eyes  closed,  and  Ottorino  was  soon 
in  the  land  of  oblivion.  He  woke  from  time  to  time, 
but  each  waking  was  of  shorter  duration  than  the  pre- 
ceding. Finally  the  feeling  of  anxiety  which  still  lingered 
in  his  mind  became  blunted,  and  his  ideas,  inextricably 
confused,  in  the  end  vanished  altogether. 

While  in  this  state  he  dreamed  he  was  in  a  richly  fur- 
nished apartment  of  the  royal  palace  in  company  with 
Manfred,  but  the  king  before  him  had  a  vacant  face  and 
staring,  glassy  eyes.  He  spoke  to  him,  but  received  no 
answer ;  he  held  out  to  him  Matteo  Visconti's  letter,  but 
no  hand  was  stretched  out  to  take  it.  The  dreamer  then 
fancied  that  he  attempted  to  grasp  the  royal  hand,  but, 
though  he  did  not  see  it  withdrawn,  the  hand  was  not 
where  he  had  imagined  it  to  be,  and  it  eluded  his  grasp. 

What  did  it  all  mean  ?  What  strange  change  was  hap- 
pening now  ?  The  hangings,  gildings,  and  ornaments  of 
the  room  suddenly  vanished ;  the  walls,  their  sides  ap- 
pearing quite  bare,  seemed  to  become  dark,  rough,  and 
contracted  like  those  of  a  prison.  The  gilded  ceiling 
turned  into  a  black  vaulted  roof,  and  the  pavement  un- 
derneath parted,  permitting  a  glimpse  into  a  dungeon, 
strewn  with  decaying  carcasses.  But  on  the  winding 
stairs,  leading  below,  was  stretched  at  full  length  Man- 
fred, the  fair-haired  Hohenstaufen,  a  ghastly  wound  in 
his  head,  from  which  the  helmet  had  fallen  and  rolled 
among  the  dead  below. 

At  this  juncture  a  confused  medley  of  whispering 
voices  struck  the  sleeper's  ear  and  a  light  flashed  across 


XTbe  /©ass  ot  tbe  Dominicans         23s 

his  eyes,  which  were  still  closed.  He  fancied  that  he 
heard  a  voice  continually  calling  out  to  him,  "  See,  they 
are  coming  to  murder  you,  —  fly  —  fly  for  your  life !  " 
He  then  made  an  attempt  to  rise,  to  speak,  to  reach  for 
his  poniard,  but,  do  what  he  would,  he  could  not  put 
one  foot  before  the  other;  his  voice  seemed  choked  and 
his  arms  dropped  paralyzed  by  his  side. 

He  remained  a  few  moments  in  this  condition,  then 
he  found  his  throat  tightly  clutched  and  a  heavy  weight 
on  his  body ;  he  shook  himself,  and  on  opening  his  eyes 
discovered  it  was  not  a  dream. 

Two  ruffians  were  kneeling  upon  his  chest,  one  was 
throttling  him,  the  other,  with  a  devilish  grin  of  scorn 
and  rage,  was  trying  to  stab  him,  while  a  third,  stand- 
ing in  the  shadow  of  the  wall,  seemingly  to  direct  their 
movements,  hissed,  "  Strike  hard,  Passerino  —  run  him 
through  the  heart !  " 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  the  speaker  which 
well-nigh  paralyzed  Ottorino's  energies,  for  in  the  dim 
light  of  the  room  he  fancied  that  he  recognized  in  the 
ruffian  with  the  stiletto  the  bravo  he  had  so  uncere- 
moniously thrown  overboard.  After  some  fruitless  efforts 
to  escape  from  that  powerful  pressure,  he  at  last  suc- 
ceeded in  rolling  over,  so  that  he  and  his  assailants  were 
struggling  together  on  the  floor. 

Freeing  his  right  arm,  which  was  pinned  under  him 
by  one  of  the  bravi,  he  succeeded  by  a  dexterous  move- 
ment in  wrenching  the  weapon  from  Passerino's  hand; 
not,  however,  before  he  had  felt  its  sharp  point  pierce  his 
breast.  Gathering  all  his  strength,  he  buried  it  in  his 
assailant's  side,  with  such  force  that  he  felt  the  hilt  strike 
against  the  body. 

With  a  groan  the  bravo  rolled  over,  while  his  com- 
panion, amazed  at  the  unexpected  turn,  relaxed  his  hold 


»$6  Castel  ^el  /iDonte 

on  Ottorino  long  enough  to  allow  the  latter  to  stagger 
to  his  feet.  When  Ottorino  turned  on  his  other  assailant, 
he  found  that  he  had  vanished,  and  likewise  the  one  who 
had  so  manifestly  directed  the  assault. 

Abandoning  the  idea  of  pursuit  as  fruitless  and  hazard- 
ous, he  examined  the  wound  from  which  he  felt  the  warm 
blood  oozing.  A  languor  and  inertness  began  to  creep 
over  his  whole  frame.  Convulsive  tremors  shook  his 
joints,  and  a  giddiness  seized  upon  him,  which  seemed  to 
turn  everything  to  darkness.  He  no  longer  felt  the  ground 
under  his  feet,  and,  staggering,  he  fell  with  a  heavy 
thud  upon  the  stone  floor  of  the  chamber,  striking  his 
head  against  some  marble  relic  of  antiquity.  Stretched 
on  his  back,  his  head  bleeding  from  behind  so  as  to 
crimson  his  dark  hair,  and  with  the  blood  soaking 
through  his  silken  doublet,  he  lay  senseless  and  appar- 
ently dead. 

While  these  events  were  transpiring  in  the  Dominican's 
hermitage,  the  piazza  fronting  the  stupendous  Cathedral 
of  Santa  Rosalia  presented  a  scene  of  singular  solemnity. 
It  was  midnight.  The  distant  peal  of  convent  bells  rever- 
berated through  the  hushed  and  silent  air,  and  the  chant 
of  pilgrims  traversing  the  city  at  some  distance  was 
remotely  audible.  In  the  starlight,  dim  and  paling  before 
the  rays  of  the  moon,  strange,  muffled  forms  were  to  be 
seen  gliding  about ;  from  side  streets  and  alleys,  from 
cellars  and  attics,  from  houses  and  taverns,  they  streamed 
noiselessly  into  the  piazza.  The  bells  seemed  incessantly 
to  call  for  more  and  more,  as  the  loiterers  delayed. 

Through  the  open  portals  of  the  cathedral  the  dimly 
lighted  altars  in  the  background  were  visible.  Ghostly 
fantastic  shapes  glided  noiselessly  in  and  out.  The  screen 
at  the  apse  sparkled  in  the  candle-light.    Like  a  revela- 


XTbe  /Dass  of  the  2)omtnicans         237 

tion,  the  cross  above  it  gleamed  out  of  the  gloom,  but  half 
of  the  immense  interior  was  wrapped  in  sombre  shadows. 
From  the  penetralia  came  the  sound  of  priestly  chant- 
ing. Before  the  altar,  in  a  semicircle,  knelt  in  silent 
prayer  the  Dominican  brotherhood. 

At  the  left  of  the  door  a  monk  stood  with  impassive 
face,  before  a  solitary  lighted  candle,  which  shed  its  pale 
radiance  from  a  niche  in  the  wall.  Before  him,  on  a  table, 
were  piles  of  wax  tapers,  and  every  pilgrim  or  monk  who 
entered  bought  a  taper,  lighted  it,  and,  kneeling,  placed 
it  on  one  of  the  tripods  before  the  screen.  This  slowly 
increasing  illumination  revealed  monks  and  pilgrims  and 
friars  of  all  ages  and  all  grades,  beggars  on  crutches,  and 
bravi  with  short  cloaks  and  midnight  visors. 

Gradually  the  chant  seemed  to  pervade  the  whole  in- 
terior of  the  cathedral,  flowing  from  shrine  to  shrine. 
A  Dominican  came  out  of  the  background  with  tinkling 
censer  and  incensed  carefully  every  nook  and  cornet 
till  the  church  was  filled  with  smoke  and  perfume.  First, 
from  the  left,  then  from  the  right,  rose  the  sombre  chant 
of  the  brotherhood,  echoing  in  sepulchral  knells  through- 
out the  vast  interior,  while  after  each  pause  in  the  chant 
one  light  went  out  and  dismal  shadows  began  to  creep 
upon  the  frescoed  walls  and  painted  columns. 

Low  and  monotonous,  but  gaining  force  with  every 
moment,  the  death-mass  began. 


«  Dies  irae,  dies  ilia  "  Liber  scriptus  proferetur, 

Solvet  saeclura  in  favilla,  In  quo  totum  continetur 

Teste  David  cum  Sibylla.  Unde  mundus  judicetur. 


**  Tuba  mirum  spargens  sonum     •«  Quantus  tremor  est  futurus, 
Per  sepulchra  regionum  Quando  judex  est  venturus, 

Coget  omnes  ante  thronum.  Cuncta  stricte  discussurus. 


«38  Castel  t)el  /iDonte 

'^  Mors  stupebit  et  natura,  "  Judex  ergo  cum  sedebit, 

Cum  resurget  creatura,  Quidquid  latet  apparebit, 

Judicanti  responsura.  Nil  inultum  remanebit" 

Slowly  the  chant  had  increased  in  volume,  up  to  the 
ending  climax,  "Nil  inultum  remanebit,"  when  it  softly 
died  in  undulating  echoes,  vibrating  long  after  under  the 
high,  vaulted  arches. 

One  taper  after  another  had  gone  out,  until  but  a  group 
surrounded  the  high  cross,  and  cast  their  diminished 
brilliancy  over  the  silent  crowd  of  worshippers. 

Two  muffled  figures  approached  each  other  in  a  side 
aisle. 

"  The  door  of  the  emperor's  tomb  is  open,"  whispered 
the  one,  awestruck,  to  his  companion. 

"  Are  the  graves  gaping  and  the  dead  taking  the  air  ?  " 
questioned  the  other. 

"  Did  the  tomb  open  of  its  own  accord  ?  "  interrogated 
a  third. 

"  They  say  the  emperor  has  arisen  and  was  seen  stalk- 
ing through  the  vaults." 

The  speaker  paused,  gazing  in  awe  upon  the  stooping 
form  of  what  appeared  to  be  almost  a  centenarian,  who, 
barely  supporting  himself  upon  a  hooked  cane,  such  as 
pilgrims  were  in  the  habit  of  using,  was  bent  almost 
double  with  age.  His  snow-white  hair  flowed  in  silvery 
waves  down  his  back  and  shoulders,  and  his  eyes  seemed 
to  disappear  under  the  bushy  lashes.  Slowly  he  shuffled 
along,  pausing  at  times  as  if  to  listen ;  suddenly  he  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  the  tall,  commanding  form  of  a 
Dominican,  emerging  from  the  shadows  of  remote  shrines. 

Once  more  the  chant  rose  in  antiphonic  sequence,  as 
if  the  spirits  of  the  dead  made  response  to  the  invocation 
of  the  living.     It  penetrated  the  dusk  of  hidden  shrines 


Ube  /iDass  of  tbe  H)ominicanB         239 

as  if  it  pealed  from  the  sombre  gloom  of  the  vaults  where 
the  vanquished  slept  in  peace  beside  their  victors : 

"  Lacrymosa  dies  ilia, 
Qua  resurget  ex  favilla 
Judicandus  homo  reus  — 
Dona  eis  requiem !  " 

"  What  means  the  chant  ?  Has  the  hour  pealed  at  last, 
that  is  to  lift  the  heavy  burden  from  my  soul  ?  "  the  cen- 
tenarian whispered  to  the  immobile  Dominican,  whose 
presence  he  rather  divined  than  saw. 

"  It  is  the  death-mass  of  the  Sicilian  kingdom,"  the 
monk  responded,  gloomily. 

"  The  knell  of  the  Suabian  dynasty  ?  "  the  old  man  re- 
peated, hoarsely.  "  And  who  art  thou,  to  look  upon  the 
dread  hour  as  calmly  as  the  judge  who  pronounces  the 
doom?" 

"  An  instrument  of  Providence,  summoned  hither, 
like  thyself,  to  bear  witness  to  the  word  that  the  sins  of 
the  fathers  shall  be  visited  upon  their  children  unto  the 
third  generation  and  the  fourth !  " 

The  old  man  raised  his  hands  as  if  to  ward  off  a  blow, 
while  his  well-nigh  extinct  eyes  peered  through  red,  in- 
flamed lids. 

"  I  am  old  and  near  my  grave,"  he  gasped.  "  Is  the 
hour  so  nigh  ?  " 

"  Thou  who  hast  seen  four  generations  from  cradle  to 
grave,  —  knowest  thou  the  law  of  retribution  ?  Or  have 
these  sightless  orbs,  these  locks  blanched  with  the  snows 
of  winter  frosts,  some  stronger  claim  upon  this  earth  ?  " 

The  centenarian  passed  his  skeleton-like  fingers  through 
his  long  white  hair. 

"  Will  the  hour  never  come  when  her  screams  will  cease 


240  Castel  t)el  /iDonte 

to  torment  mine  ears,  her  wild,  piteous  moans  to  drive 
my  heart  to  madness  ?  What  is  the  terror  of  death  com- 
pared with  the  agony  of  life ! " 

"  Thou  art  Roger  d'Hauteville  ?  " 

The  centenarian  nodded. 

"  I  was  a  child  with  golden  locks  when  face  to  face  I 
saw  the  emperor  Henry  the  Sixth  as  upon  his  fiery 
charger  he  rode  into  the  gates  of  Palermo'.  His  eyes 
were  flaming  wrath,  his  voice  the  thunder  of  the  moun- 
tain cataract,  his  countenance  a  destructive  storm-cloud. 
Before  him  all  life  withered,  and  a  mighty  wail  went  up 
to  heaven.  I  was  torn  from  my  mother's  arms,  and  she, 
having  had  both  eyes  and  tongue  torn  out  by  the  re- 
morseless hand  of  the  hangman,  perished  with  hundreds 
of  our  noblest  Normans,  likewise  mutilated,  in  the  snake- 
haunted  dungeons  of  Palermo.    Oh,  that  cry,  —  that  cry, 

—  will  the  thunder  of  judgment  ever  drown  the  echoes 
of  her  death-wail  ?  " 

"  Peace,  old  man  —  peace !    There  is  a  God  in  heaven, 

—  and  he  is  just!  " 

All  the  lights  in  the  cathedral  had  gone  out  but  one. 
Sombre  gloom  pervaded  the  vast  nave,  now  almost  de- 
serted, save  by  the  Dominican,  whose  kneeling  form 
appeared  in  strange  contrast  to  the  dark  shadows  in  the 
uneasily  flickering  flame  of  the  last  taper.  The  friar's 
white-haired  companion  had  disappeared  with  the  rest 
of  the  midnight  worshippers.  Phantom-like  the  monks 
had  flitted  from  the  shrines,  when  a  mufifled  cavalier,  en- 
tering quickly  and  throwing  ofif  his  mantle,  stepped  di- 
rectly in  front  of  Fra  Domenico. 

"  What  seeks  the  Duke  of  Altamura  at  this  place  and 
this  hour  of  the  night  ? "  calmly  questioned  the  friar 
from  under  his  cowl,  rising  from  his  kneeling  posture. 

"The  hour  is  at  hand,"  the  duke  returned,  in  hoarse 


Zbc  /»ass  of  tbe  2)omintcan0         241 

whispers.  "  The  bonfires  in  Calabria  announce  the  choice 
of  the  Conclave." 

The  Dominican  nodded  as  one  in  a  trance. 

"What  wouldst  thou  have  me  do?"  he  replied,  in  a 
voice  strained  and  low. 

"  Thy  duty,  —  and  the  behest  of  thy  superiors !  "  the 
duke  returned,  fiercely. 

"  They  speak  not  to  me  through  thee !  Deemest  thou 
it  so  light  a  task  to  pronounce  the  damning  judgment? 
Haste  it  not,  —  lest  it  precipitate  thine  own  doom !  " 

"Charles  of  Anjou  has  landed  at  Ostia!" 

The  Dominican  nodded  in  silence. 

"The  pontiff  himself  has  blessed  the  banners  of  Pro- 
vence !  " 

Again  the  silent  nod. 

"  Boso  Doaria  has  opened  the  gates  of  Birnio  dei 
Lombardi  to  the  Provengals ! "  the  duke  growled,  hardly 
able  to  control  himself  at  the  sight  of  the  friar's  tran- 
quillity. 

A  third  silent  nod,  and  Altamura's  pent-up  ire  broke 
through  its  last  restraint. 

"  Then  why  in  the  name  of  the  foul  fiend  dost  thou 
tarry?  Why  dost  thou  temporize?  There  are  graver 
interests  at  stake  than  the  paltry  misgivings  of  a  name- 
less friar !  Is  it  for  this  that  we  have  planned  and  toiled, 
but  to  be  trapped  at  the  last  moment  merely  because  the 
instrument  obeys  not  its  master  ?  " 

The  Dominican  raised  his  right  hand. 

"  When  the  goblet  is  full  to  the  brim,  then  only  will  it 
overflow!  The  legacy  of  Urban  will  be  fulfilled  —  even 
to  the  letter!  It  is  not  for  thee  to  judge  the  fitness  of 
the  hour;  thou  art  not  yet  the  successor  of  the  Caesars, 
and  thy  kingdom,  duke,  is  yet  a  dream." 


842  Castel  bel  /iDonte 

There  was  a  momentary  pause,  during  which  the  duke 
changed  his  tone  of  command  to  one  of  abject  humility. 

"  Friar,"  he  spoke  at  last,  "  I  will  give  thee  riches 
untold,  thou  shalt  be  second  in  the  land  but  to  the  pon- 
tiff, and  if  the  colic  becomes  epidemic,  friar,  thou  shalt 
be  his  successor,  under  any  Latin,  Christian,  or  heathen 
name  that  may  please  thy  palate,  if  thou  wilt  but  do  my 
bidding." 

"  I  despise  thy  threats  and  I  care  not  for  thy  gold," 
the  Dominican  replied,  coldly,  "  Leave  me  to  myself ! 
Thou  canst  neither  hasten  nor  retard  the  tread  of  destiny," 

"  But  we  cannot  —  must  not  —  dare  not  delay,"  the 
duke  replied,  fiercely,  "  It  concerns  nothing  less  than 
the  future  and  the  fortunes  of  the  house  of  Altamura !  " 

The  monk  gazed  abstractedly  into  space. 

"  What  are  the  fortunes  of  thy  house  to  me  ?  "  he  then 
replied,  impatiently,  "  I  have  neither  honours  to  con- 
fer nor  crowns  to  give  away,  —  I  have  not  even  a  friend, 
—  a  rival,  —  who  stands  in  my  light  —  " 

The  duke  turned  ghastly  pale  at  the  Dominican's 
speech,  his  eyes  started  from  their  sockets,  and  his  fingers 
convulsively  grasped  the  hilt  of  his  poniard,  but  the 
monk,  raising  himself  to  his  full  height,  disarmed  him 
with  the  icy  stare  of  his  dark  eyes.  Relaxing  his  hold 
of  the  weapon  and  adroitly  changing  the  subject,  the 
duke  spoke  with  forced  calmness : 

"  Thou  art  the  confessor  of  the  lady  of  Miraval  ?  " 

"  And,  if  so,  what  is  it  of  thy  concern,  Duke  of  Alta- 
mura?   I  aspire  not  to  become  thine." 

"  No,  —  it  is  not  that,"  the  duke  faltered,  as  if  hesi- 
tating to  express  his  thoughts.  Then,  after  a  brief  pause, 
he  continued:  "As  her  confessor  thou  canst  sway  her 
soul  to  whatever  course  thou  wilt,  —  it  is  upon  this 
subject  I  would  touch." 


Zbc  nDass  of  tbe  2)omfnicans         243 

"Thou  forgettest,  duke!  We  are  not  the  advisers  of 
those  who  seek  us,  —  seek  us  without  our  asking.  We 
receive  the  confession,  we  grant  absolution,  —  the  silence 
of  the  grave  covers  the  past." 

The  duke  gazed  for  a  moment  irresolutely  at  the  monk, 
abashed  by  his  determined  manner.  Presently  a  thought 
seemed  to  flash  through  his  mind.  Approaching  the 
Dominican,  whose  eyes  relaxed  their  vigilance  not  for 
a  moment,  he  spoke  in  an  undertone,  as  if  in  dread  of 
the  sound  of  his  own  voice : 

"To  be  brief,  monk, — we  have  a  high-born  match  in 
view  for  her,  which,  if  consummated,  will  make  her  the 
proudest  lady  in  Italy." 

He  broke  off,  for  the  Dominican's  eyes  glared  like 
those  of  an  infuriated  tiger.  Stamping  his  foot  upon 
the  floor,  he  hissed  into  the  duke's  face : 

"  What  are  thy  plans  —  thy  matches  to  me  ?  Tell  them 
to  the  ravens  and  vultures  that  fatten  off  the  carcasses 
of  thy  kinswoman's  rejected  suitors,  that  they  may 
sharpen  their  beaks  to  tear  out  the  heart  of  another! 
Get  thee  hence,  duke,  ere  I  curse  the  hour  that  led  thy 
footsteps  hither !  " 

The  duke  controlled  his  anger  with  a  supreme  effort, 
and  continued : 

"  Nay,  —  have  patience,  good  monk,  and  if  thou  canst 
not  otherwise  allay  thy  strange  midnight  scruples, 
imagine  this  to  be  thy  confessional,  though  I  spurn  thine 
absolution.  Now,  our  kinswoman,  headstrong  and  self- 
willed  as  she  is,  refuses  to  listen  alike  to  entreaties  and 
threats,  nor  does  she  as  much  as  vouchsafe  a  reason  for 
rejecting  the  most  devoted  of  suitors,  and  our  suspicions 
point  to  the  presence  of  one  who  exercises  such  a  potent 
spell  over  her  heart  that  she  in  all  truth  imagines  that 
she  loves  him." 


344  Castel  ^el  /iDonte 

"  Which  right  thou  deniest  her,"  the  monk  interrupted 
the  speaker. 

"  Shall  we  cast  her  into  the  arms  of  the  first  beggar- 
knight  who  attracts  her  roaming  fancy,  when  she  could 
be  Empress  of  Italy  ?  " 

"  Again,  what  is  thy  behest  ?  Speak  or  leave  me !  Thou 
poisonest  the  very  air!  Salve  me,  Jesu!  How  darest 
thou,  with  the  vile  passions  of  thine  unexpurgated  soul 
still  palpitating  within  thee,  —  how  darest  thou  approach 
Fra  Domenico  ?  " 

"  Patience,  good  friar,  patience !  We  come  anon  to 
the  question.  The  welfare  of  the  Lombard  envoy  is 
very  dear  to  us;  we  would  be  disconsolate  came  he  to 
harm  in  the  exercise  of  his  peaceful  mission.  We  know 
he  has  sought  thine  advice  before,  —  renew  thy  warning, 
good  monk !  Meanwhile  I  will  steel  my  soul  to  patience 
and  await  thy  summons,  but  tarry  not  too  long,  good 
friar,  lest  we  be  tempted  to  usurp  thine  office  and  cheat 
heaven  out  of  the  soul  of  a  saint !  " 

"  Begone  and  leave  me  to  myself,"  the  Dominican  re- 
plied, fiercely,  and  the  duke,  after  wrapping  himself  in 
his  long  Spanish  mantle  and  drawing  the  wide  brim  of 
his  hat  over  his  eyes  so  as  to  completely  shade  his  fea- 
tures, disappeared  with  a  mute  greeting.  At  the  same 
moment  the  light  of  the  last  taper  was  extinguished,  and 
the  cathedral  was  left  in  almost  complete  darkness,  but 
for  the  rays  of  the  moon  which  stole  here  and  there  into 
its  dense,  incense-saturated  gloom. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

CONFESSIONS 

During  the  following  day  Ottorino  enjoyed  but  a  de- 
gree of  twilight  consciousness.  He  afterward  remem- 
bered that  he  had  been  borne  along  gently  but  rapidly, 
then  all  was  lost  until,  opening  his  eyes  on  a  terrace  of 
soft  grass,  numerous  faces  swam  around  him,  and  he  had 
a  distinct  recollection  of  a  hooded  nun  washing  his 
wounded  breast  with  some  balmy  fluid,  while  diverse 
sages  in  black  mantles  and  furred  caps  spoke  in  low  and 
mysterious  mutterings.  He  remembered  little  more  until, 
waking  with  a  start  from  deep  slumbers,  he  found  him- 
self extended  on  a  magnificent  couch,  covered  with  scarlet 
velvet  brocade,  and  propped  on  cushions  of  white  satin. 
The  walls  were  hung  with  arras,  wrought  with  repre- 
sentations of  the  loves  of  the  gods,  and  the  furnishings 
of  the  apartment  were  in  keeping  with  the  splendour  of 
the  decorations.  Among  all  the  persons  around  him, 
Ottorino  recognized  but  one,  Canaletto,  though  the  cap- 
tain's sober  demeanour  well-nigh  staggered  the  Lombard's 
consciousness.  He  began  to  make  inquiries,  which  that 
worthy  for  some  time  avoided  answering,  until  he  found 
that  his  young  lord  was  more  irritated  at  his  silence  than 
he  could  possibly  have  been  at  his  speech.  Ottorino  thus 
learned  that  Canaletto  and  Fra  Cyrillo,  having  been  en- 
gaged in  a  drinking-bout,   had,   after   many   strenuous 

245 


246  Castel  &el  /Route 

efforts  to  put  each  other  hors  de  combat,  betaken  them- 
selves to  the  Dominican's  hermitage,  where  they  had 
been  most  effectually  sobered  by  the  discovery  of  Otto- 
rino's  apparently  lifeless  form  stretched  upon  the  blood- 
stained floor. 

"  I  shall  soon  recover  from  the  loss  of  blood,"  Otto- 
rino  replied,  after  a  few  moments  of  silent  musing,  "  and, 
unless  I  may  right  myself  on  those  who  have  so  foully 
conspired,  we  have  little  further  to  seek  in  Palermo,  and 
will  depart,  content  that  our  bruises  are  no  worse." 

Canaletto  grunted  assent. 

"  I  shall  be  blamed  by  the  mediciners  for  stirring  you 
up,  and  hark,  —  a  millet-seed  against  a  watermelon,  — 
here  comes  one  now,"  he  exclaimed,  hearing  a  footstep. 
He  would  have  lost  his  wager,  for  the  opening  door 
admitted  the  Dominican. 

The  visage  of  the  friar  was  even  more  pale  than  usual, 
and  his  demeanour  appeared  perturbed.  He  stood  for  a 
moment  irresolutely  on  the  threshold,  then,  advancing 
toward  Ottorino's  couch,  he  beckoned  to  Canaletto  to 
retire. 

The  captain  refused. 

"  Nay,  reverend  father,  I  cannot  leave  my  master  for 
an  instant,  for  so  I  promised  the  gentle  nun,"  he  said. 

"  The  nun  —  what  nun  ?  "  The  Dominican  started. 
"  Have  you  a  nun  among  your  attendants  ?  " 

"  And  I  am  pledged  to  let  no  one  too  closely  approach 
my  master,  or  to  apply  any  medicaments  save  those  under 
her  own  sanction,"  Canaletto  continued,  resolutely,  and 
with  a  suspicion  in  his  manner,  which  instantly  struck 
Ottorino. 

"  Where  are  we  ?  "  the  Lombard  faltered,  for  the  first 
time  scanning  his  surroundings. 

The  Dominican  cast  a  glance  of  silent  wonder  at  the 


Contesstons  247 

questioner,  then,  without  heeding  the  query,  he  spoke  in 
a  voice  resonant  of  trouble  and  anguish : 

"  Then  even  in  the  presence  of  thy  stout  man-at-arms 
must  I  bid  thee  beware.  I  know  that  some  frenzy  has 
deceived  thee  into  mistrust  of  mine  intents.  Thou  art 
deaf  to  my  predictions  and  warnings,  deaf  here  in  this 
very  chamber,  which  beheld  a  lover,  on  the  eve  delirious 
with  happiness,  —  at  midnight  a  bleeding  corpse.  Ah! 
Thou  knowest  the  story  of  Corrado  da  Polenta,  —  I  tell 
thee,  suffer  no  woman,  unskilful  or  too  skilled,  to  ap- 
proach thy  wounds,  if  thou  desirest  to  leave  this  ominous 
chamber  a  living  man." 

Ottorino  started  up  convulsively  from  his  cushions. 

"  Since  last  we  met,  frate,  I  have  had  much  cause  to 
remember  thy  warnings,  faithful  as  the  ravens.  But 
where  are  we  ?    What  of  these  chambers  ?  " 

"  Thou  art  under  Altamura's  roof,  and  again  I  counsel 
thee,  depart  from  Palermo,  depart  in  all  haste!  Thou 
hast  been  here  altogether  too  long;  thou  hast  been  alto- 
gether too  busy,  stirring  up  the  foul  corpses  in  the  slime, 
and  the  duke  sees  more  in  thy  mission  than  thou  wouldst 
avow.  But,"  he  added,  with  a  shrug,  "  if  these  chambers 
are  dumb  to  thee,  the  eloquence  of  an  angel  were  in 
vain." 

"  Does  the  ointment  pain  you  ?  "  Canaletto  turned  to 
his  master. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  Ottorino  replied,  "  it  soothes  the 
wound,  as  if  the  hand  of  love  had  applied  it." 

"  Then  I  know  not  what  you  speak  of  poison  and 
drugs,  for  I  believe  the  nun  who  visits  you  is  none  but 
the  lady  of  Miraval  herself,  as  I  noticed  when  she  did 
not  believe  herself  watched." 

"  Can  this  be  possible,  —  after  all,"  exclaimed  Ottorino, 
staring  at  the  friar  in  blank  amazement. 


84S  Castel  t)el  jflDonte 

The  latter  rose  to  depart, 

"  Let  this  oracle  remain  with  thee,  my  son ;  even  if  the 
fancy,  or  the  passion,  or  the  passing  love  of  a  woman 
save  thee  now,  thou  art  doomed  only  to  more  certain 
destruction,  which  all  the  hooded  disciples  of  Galenus, 
—  which  no  human  agency  can  prevent." 

He  bowed  and  withdrew  from  the  apartment,  while 
Ottorino,  sinking  back  into  his  cushions,  relapsed  into 
his  former  reveries,  and  gradually  drifted  softly  to  sleep. 

When  the  Dominican  reached  the  corridor,  he  met  two 
disciples  of  that  learned  art  whose  imposing  costumes 
did  much  to  impose  upon  human  credulity.  They  were 
accompanied  by  two  females,  one  a  closely  veiled  nun, 
the  other  some  grave,  stately  dame  in  black  satin  robe 
and  hood.  The  Dominican  paused,  eying  the  nun  with 
a  piercing  glance,  to  which  she  only  replied  by  a  rever- 
ential bend  of  the  head,  then  the  four  disappeared  within 
the  chamber  occupied  by  the  Visconti. 

The  Dominican  remained  some  time  irresolute,  then  his 
ear  caught  the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps,  and,  pre- 
cipitately retreating  behind  a  column,  he  peered  through 
the  dusk.  Crivello,  the  Catalan,  strode  by  him  so  closely 
that  he  almost  touched  him,  disappearing  in  a  remote 
chamber  at  the  end  of  the  corridor. 

The  Dominican  did  not  stir,  but  seemed  to  be  revolv- 
ing some  plan  in  his  mind. 

"  This  Spaniard  is  wrapped  in  the  very  odour  of  death," 
he  muttered  to  himself.  "  And  the  credulous  victim 
trusts  to  a  woman's  love !  A  woman's  love !  It  is  a  prob- 
lem worth  expounding,  —  but  was  it  ever  solved  ?  " 

He  raised  his  head,  as  if  listening.  The  soft  jar  of 
an  opening  door,  whispering  voices,  and  the  sound  of 
many  footsteps  broke  into  his  reverie,  and  forthwith  the 
two  sages,  the  nun,  and  her  attendant  went  by  him.    He 


Contessions  34$ 

waited  until  they  had  passed,  then,  with  a  deep  sigh,  the 
Dominican  pursued  his  way  through  an  intricate  laby- 
rinth of  corridors,  until  he  found  himself  before  a  massive 
oaken  door  before  which  he  passed. 

Something  like  a  sob  was  faintly  audible  from  within, 
and  without  another  moment's  hesitation  he  softly  opened 
the  door  and  entered.  At  the  threshold,  however,  he 
paused  once  more  and  stared  aghast  at  the  scene  which 
presented  itself  to  his  gaze. 

It  was  a  high,  vaulted  chamber,  dimly  lighted  by  tall, 
perfumed  tapers.  The  tapestries,  hangings,  and  also  the 
carpets  were  of  a  rich  crimson,  while  the  ceiling  was  or- 
namented with  the  sculpture  of  a  period  which  seemed 
to  antedate  the  construction  of  the  palace  itself.  In  the 
chamber,  which  seemed  to  serve  the  purpose  of  an  oratory, 
Helena  di  Miraval  knelt  before  an  iron  cross,  which  rose 
from  the  elevated  flooring.  Her  bare  arms  were  entwined 
about  those  of  the  cross,  while  her  head  hung  over  her 
bosom,  and  she  was  weeping  with  such  anguish  that  its 
heartrending  expression  moved  even  the  monk.  She  did 
not  now  wear  the  habit  of  the  cloister,  but  a  loose  gown 
of  soft,  dark  texture,  and  so  wrapt  was  she  in  her  grief 
that  she  neither  heard  the  Dominican  enter,  nor  became 
aware  of  his  presence  till  he  stood  almost  before  her, 
uttering  the  greeting  of  the  brotherhood. 

Helena  started  up,  and  at  first  she  was  so  amazed  at 
having  had  an  unexpected  witness  of  her  sorrow  that 
she  changed  colour  repeatedly,  while  she  dashed  away 
the  tears  which  were  streaming  down  her  face. 

"  Thy  pardon,  father,"  she  then  faltered.  "  I  thought 
I  was  alone  with  my  grief,  and  had  no  witness  but  heaven. 
I  did  not  hear  thee  enter,  but  perhaps  it  is  as  well.  Be 
seated,  father,  and  forget  what  thou  hast  seen,  for  my 
grief  is  great" 


«so  Castel  &el  flDonte 

"  There  is  no  grief,  no  sorrow,  which  Holy  Church  can- 
not mitigate,  daughter.  If  it  be  the  fault  of  another, 
she  may  mediate ;  if  the  cause  lies  within  thyself,  she  may 
counsel  and  strengthen.  Thou  weepest  for  one  conva- 
lescent under  this  very  roof  ?  " 

The  monk  had  by  degrees  assumed  his  usual  austere 
demeanour,  and  this  discomposed  Helena  almost  as  much 
as  his  perspicuity. 

"  Thou  knowest,  father,"  she  faltered ;  then,  as  if 
ashamed  of  her  weakness,  she  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands  and  was  silent. 

The  Dominican  watched  her  for  a  few  moments,  and 
so  intense  was  the  stillness  in  the  room  that  the  beatings 
of  their  hearts  could  have  been  heard. 

"  Even  so,"  the  monk  at  last  spoke  slowly  and  relent- 
lessly. "  Even  so !  What  is  there  between  thee  and 
him?" 

"  I  have  been  maligned  to  him,  father.  He  loathes  and 
despises  me,  —  yes,  he  even  hinted  that  I  had  come  to 
poison  him,"  and,  as  if  the  memory  was  too  much,  Helena 
broke  down  and  wept  in  silence. 

Whatever  the  friar's  feelings  were,  his  pale  visage  did 
not  betray  them,  as  he  replied: 

"  Who  is  the  author  of  this  fateful  dirge  ?  Poison 
him  ?  In  whose  interest  could  be  such  a  deed  ?  But  how 
camest  thou  to  know  the  knight's  thoughts  ?  " 

"  It  was  into  my  face  he  hurled  the  accusation,  father, 
and,  as  for  its  author,  I  guess  him  but  too  well." 

"  To  thy  face,  daughter  ?  "  the  monk  exclaimed,  with 
feigned  surprise.  "  The  Lombard  is  confined  to  his  cham- 
ber, —  how  could  that  be  ?  " 

"  I  entered  his  apartment,"  Helena  stammered,  blush- 
ing and  embarrassed.     "  It  was  but  to  see  that  he  was 


ContesBions  25  > 

wanting  for  nothing.  Surely,  that  was  no  crime,  but, 
if  it  was,  I  found  the  chastisement  even  in  the  offence ! " 

"  Distinguendum  est  inter  et  inter,  —  thy  sex  often 
mistakes  regret  for  repentance.  But  thou  art  strangely 
pale,  daughter,  —  or  is  there  more  behind  all  this  than  thy 
speech  acknowledges  ?  " 

"  Father,  thou  hadst  warned  me !  Oh,  had  I  but  taken 
heed !  It  stings  my  proud  soul  to  the  quick  to  think 
that  his  love  should  have  changed  into  hate  and  scorn !  " 

"  Love  —  hate  —  scorn  ?  Of  what  speak  we  ?  Of 
whom  speak  we  ?  "  said  the  monk,  turning  very  pale  and 
gazing  at  the  woman  before  him  with  a  degree  of  fierce- 
ness which  almost  deprived  her  of  the  last  degree  of 
composure. 

"  The  Visconti  saved  my  life !  I  loved  him  when  first 
his  haughty  gaze  fell  upon  me ;  I  was  the  first,  the  only 
woman  to  conquer  his  proud  heart.  Some  dark  agency 
has  sown  distrust  between  us,  for  to  mine  entreaties  he 
vouchsafed  no  response;  I  have  lost  him  —  lost  him  — 
and  yet  I  know  not  how,  nor  why !  " 

She  spoke  hurriedly,  in  almost  inarticulate  gasps,  and 
her  words  died  away  in  a  wail  of  anguish. 

"And  for  this,  then,  thou  hadst  him  brought  hither," 
the  Dominican  replied,  slowly,  "  to  make  him  reap  the 
deserts  of  his  faithlessness  ?  " 

Helena  stared  a  moment  at  the  speaker  ere  the  whole 
enormity  of  his  words  struck  her. 

"  Holy  Virgin !  I  would  rather  perish  in  despair  and 
misery  than  that  aught  of  ill  should  befall  him." 

"  He  rests  in  a  likely  chamber,  —  a  chamber  with  a 
history,"  the  Dominican  replied,  darkly.  "  And  if  the 
ground  should  open  under  him  at  midnight,  strange 
spectres  crowd  his  couch  and  make  his  breath  un- 
easy, he  would  fain  think  it  nothing  strange,  after  the 


252  Castel  bel  jflDonte 

shameless  sight  he  beheld  at  the  Carnival,  when  the  lady 
of  Miraval  appeared  in  so  evil  a  role.  Marry,  I  do  not 
wonder  that  the  feelings  of  thy  Lombard  have  changed 
from  love  to  hate !  " 

"  Carnival  —  evil  part  ?  Thou  art  deceived,  father,  — 
thou,  too,  with  the  Visconti  and  many  others.  No 
matter  what  offence  I  have  committed,  —  of  this,  at  least, 
I  am  not  guilty.  It  is  another  of  my  sex  who  imper- 
sonated the  fairy,  exposing  a  beauty  equal  to  mine 
to  the  lascivious  gaze  of  the  rabble.  But  what  of  this 
chamber?  Knowest  thou  of  any  peril  threatening  him 
within  these  walls  ?  " 

The  Dominican  laughed  sarcastically,  but  was  silent. 

"  Jest  not  in  a  matter  like  this !  Thou  knowest,  — 
new  horrors,  —  more  blood,  —  will  the  direful  gulf  never 
close  ?     Speak,  father,  or  his  blood  be  on  thy  head !  " 

The  friar  staggered,  raising  his  hands  as  if  to  ward 
off  a  blow. 

"  On  my  head  ?  On  my  head  ?  My  burden  is  now 
almost  greater  than  I  can  bear.  I  know  of  naught, — 
but  if  thou  hast  the  least  fear,  the  remotest  foreboding, 
trust  him  not  to  remain  one  night  alone !  After  thou 
hast  done  this,  renounce  him  —  renounce  him  for  aye 
and  ever!  He  can  never  belong  to  thee.  A  Visconti 
can  never  mingle  his  blood  with  the  accursed  race  of 
Altamura.  The  past  cries  out  against  thee,  and  the 
heavens  frown  upon  your  union.  Drive  this  unholy  pas- 
sion from  thy  heart,  daughter,  —  a  convent,  the  seclusion 
of  the  cloister,  is  the  only  safety  for  Helena  di  Miraval ! 
Madden  me  not  with  thy  refusal,  else  revel  out  thy 
dream  in  the  everlasting  flames!  Ay,  —  something 
prompts  me  that  it  were  holy  work  tO'  stop  thine  onward 
rush  —  even  with  death  I "  shouted  the  monk,  convul- 
sively. 


ContesslOTtB  253 

"What  meanest  thou?  What  sayest  thou?"  ex- 
claimed Helena,  starting  at  the  strange  words  of  the 
Dominican.  "  Is  it  a  crime  to  love  ?  Is  it  a  crime  to 
choose  the  one  to  whom  that  immortal  spark  of  our 
existence,  borrowed  from  the  sacred  fires  of  heaven, 
draws  us,  rather  than  suffer  with  loathing  the  unwel- 
come embrace  of  another?  But  what  knowest  thou  of 
love,  thou,  a  monk,  to  whom  it  is  a  sealed  book  for  ever? 
My  heart  knows  no  sin  in  this,  my  love,  and  I  will  love 
him  if  all  the  powers  of  darkness  stand  between  him  and 
me  —  now  and  for  ever." 

A  deadly  pallor  had  overspread  Helena  di  Miraval's 
countenance  as  defiantly  she  faced  the  Dominican  with 
the  majesty  of  a  queen,  her  eyes  flashing  unalterable 
resolve. 

The  monk  staggered  as  if  he  had  been  dealt  a  deadly 
blow,  and  drew  his  cowl  deeper  over  his  face,  as  if  to 
hide  its  unearthly  pallor.  Frightened  at  her  own  words, 
Helena  approached  him  with  a  supplicating  gesture, 
timidly  touching  the  hem  of  his  robe. 

"  Forgive  me,  father,"  she  faltered,  "  forgive  me !  I 
knew  not  what  I  said.  But  the  anguish  within  me  is  so 
keen,  and  the  terror  of  my  soul  nearly  stifles  me!  Oh, 
speak,  answer  me,  father!  Thou  frightenest  me!  If  I 
have  committed  an  offence,  what  penance  —  holy  virgin ! 
he  is  struck  with  death !  " 

The  monk  raised  his  head. 

"  Peace  —  peace !  Nothing  ails  me,  —  fasting  and  too 
long  thoughts  of  this  anguish.  Salve  me,  Jesu,  —  I  am 
going !  " 

For  a  moment  he  paused,  drawing  a  deep  breath. 

"  Love  —  fate  —  renunciation,"  he  then  muttered, 
starting  as  if  waking  from  a  dream.  "  It  was  not  to  be, 
—  it  was  not  to  be !    Fare  thee  well,  Helena  di  Miraval. 


354  Castel  del  /l>onte 

Thou  shalt  not  have  further  need  of  a  confessor.  When 
we  meet  again  it  will  be  before  a  higher  tribunal.  Fare 
thee  well ! " 

And  raising  his  hands  as  if  pronouncing  a  benediction, 
the  Dominican  left  Helena  di  Miraval  to  muse  over  his 
strange  words  and  stranger  actions. 


CHAPTER   IX. 


THE   TORTURE  -  CHAMBER 


It  was  brightening  into  dawn,  and  the  first  faint 
glimmer  which  entered  the  torture-chamber  in  the  Torre 
del  Diavolo  lighted  the  livid,  passion  marred  face  of  Alta- 
mura.  The  duke  was  engaged  in  earnest  discourse  with 
his  fair  captive,  who,  seated  on  an  instrument  of  torture 
resembling  a  cross  with  joints  and  steel  screws,  was 
calmly  reasoning  against  a  suspicion  which,  it  seemed, 
had  caused  this  early  visit,  namely,  that  the  superstitious 
castellan  had  suffered  some  one  in  the  garb  of  a  monk 
to  enter  within  the  forbidden  gates. 

"  Nay,  —  with  mine  own  eyes  have  I  beheld  him,"  the 
duke  exclaimed,  impatiently  interrupting  her.  "  I 
watched  him  from  the  Campanile  to  the  secret  entrance, 
and  I  will  know  who  he  is  and  who  gives  him  the  means 
of  entrance.  Crivello  denies  all  part  therein,  but  I  will 
know,  or  the  rack  on  which  you  lean  shall  fail  for  the 
first  time." 

Francesca  smiled  with  disdain  at  the  cruel  instrument, 
and  replied,  carelessly: 

"  Are  men  to  be  thus  subdued,  —  by  fleshly  torments 
only?" 

"And  feign  you  that  your  woman's  form  would  not 
shrink  from  the  ordeal?"  returned  the  duke,  with  a 
strange  glare. 

•SS 


256  Castel  ^el  /l>onte 

"  I  have  a  torture  within  that  mocks  at  all  things  of 
fear  and  anguish,"  replied  Francesca.  The  door  opened 
as  she  spoke,  and  admitted  Crivello  and  the  Dominican. 

"  Your  pardon,  father,  for  disturbing  your  rest  ere 
cock's  crow,  the  student's  hour,"  the  duke  said,  with  grave 
irony.  "  For  I  doubt  not  it  was  disturbed,  —  how,  Cri- 
vello?" 

"  I  found  the  father  at  his  devotions,"  the  Catalan  re- 
plied, reverently. 

"  I  will  not  long  interrupt  them,  if  my  questions  are 
answered  as  I  shall  put  them,"  said  the  duke.  "  Tell  me, 
good  friar,  is  my  memory  at  fault,  or  are  you  not  the 
same  one  who  released  from  his  vows  the  black  monk, 
and  suffered  him  to  aid  me  in  a  work  which  I  have  much 
at  heart?" 

"  It  was  I  who  suffered  him  to  aid  thee  in  a  work 
which  I  have  much  at  heart,  and  whereof  thou  art  the 
destined  but  blind  instrument,"  the  Dominican  replied, 
with  significance.  "  I  did  not  think  the  time  so  near 
at  hand  then,  and  yet  when  the  summons  came  I  was 
praying  for  the  earliest  moment  when  I  could  be  released 
from  every  bond  in  the  flesh  and  commence  the  predes- 
tined toil.  Ay,  —  and  it  is  I  who  will  conjure  up  before 
thee  the  sepulchral  shapes  of  thy  mangled  victims,  it  is 
I  who  will  guide  the  pale  shade  of  that  fair-haired  boy 
into  thy  sleepless  midnight,  it  is  I  who  will  make  thee 
so  utterly  desperate  that  thou  shalt  seek  the  tombs  of 
the  dead  as  a  resting-place  from  thy  never-ending 
terrors !  " 

"  Monk  —  what  ravest  thou  ?  "  exclaimed  Francesca, 
with  a  gesture  full  of  warning  and  terror. 

"Truths  which  the  rack  would  not  extort  from  me, 
lady,  and  therefore  I  fear  not !  Yes,  Duke  of  Altamura, 
the  devils  themselves  were  wroth  listening  to  the  audience 


Ube  Uortute*Cbamber  as7 

of  thy  crimes.  Henceforth  thou  art  at  my  mercy,  since 
thou  darest  not  destroy  the  vessel  which  contains  the 
lightnings  of  heaven,  since  the  fiends  that  haunt  thee  will 
not  permit  thee  to  compel  thy  kinswoman's  choice !  Thou 
hast  but  one  refuge,  —  to  destroy  the  power  'gainst  whom 
we  are  leagued  and  to  kneel  at  the  feet  of  the  Holy 
Father,  —  to  receive  what  it  shall  please  him  to  give 
thee ! " 

"  Monk  —  demon !  It  cannot  be  that  I  dream !  "  ex- 
claimed the  duke,  gasping  for  breath  and  tossing  back 
from  his  brow  his  damp  hair.  "  I  to  lose  my  clutch  on 
destiny?  Thou  hast  early  intelligence,  or  whence  thy 
wisdom  ?  " 

His  agitation  bathed  the  duke's  brows  in  continued 
rushes  of  cold  perspiration  and  shook  his  form  with  the 
convulsive  starts  and  shiverings  of  an  ague.  After  a 
pause  he  continued: 

"  If  this  be  true,  thou  hast  accomplices  even  here 
among  ourselves,  —  or  art  thou  a  magician,  too,  familiar 
of  hell?  I  know  it,  —  thou  art,  for  I  beheld  thine  ac- 
cursed visage  in  a  swoon  in  the  ruins  where  thou  dwell- 
est!" 

"Then  thou  mightest  have  spared  thyself  the  pains 
to  ask,"  replied  the  unmoved  monk. 

"Whence  thy  daring,  friar?"  the  duke  exclaimed, 
furiously.  "  But  I  shall  know  it  ere  we  part !  Confess 
who  has  stirred  thee  on  to  play  this  strange  and  perse- 
vering part,  —  confess,  or  I  will  find  a  way  to  make 
thee!" 

"  Bring  thy  tortures,  bring  thy  racks  and  thy  burning 
irons,  the  wild  beast's  fang,  boiling  oil  and  molten  lead,  — 
thou  canst  not  harm  me!  Behind  me  stands  the  power 
of  Rome,  that  will  crush  thee  like  vermin  if  thou  rebel. 


258  Caatel  ^el  /l>onte 

But  I  am  calm  now !  The  barriers  of  doubt  are  passed, 
and  death  has  no  terrors  for  Fra  Domenico." 

"  Friar,  thou  art  made  of  the  stuff  which  I  need  in 
my  designs,"  ejaculated  the  duke,  his  desperate  thoughts 
gleaming  madly  in  his  eyes.  "  Were  the  moment  but 
ripe!  Thou  shalt  be  pontiff,  thou  shalt  sit  in  the  chair 
of  St.  Peter,  —  another  emperor  shall  bend  his  knees 
before  thee  at  Canossa,  standing  three  days  with  bare 
feet  in  Alpine  snows,  thou  shalt  hurl  the  anathema  'gainst 
the  princes  of  the  earth,  if  thou  wilt  but  avow  the  means 
by  which  secrets  are  known  to  thee  which  even  hell 
would  not  dare  to  dream  of." 

"  Hast  thou  the  pontificate  to  give  away,  duke,  or  the 
thrones  of  the  earth  ?  "  the  Dominican  replied,  derisively. 

"  Then  shall  the  tortures  wrest  thine  accomplice  from 
thee,  for  with  mine  own  eyes  have  I  seen  thee  enter  this 
tower  at  midnight,  and,  by  the  fiends,  I'll  know  the 
purpose ! " 

"  Use  thy  tortures !  I  am  all  marble  now,  and  refuse 
to  answer  thy  questions !  " 

"  Ferrando,  —  whether  from  the  angels  or  the  fiends, 
thou  thyself  knowest  the  power  of  the  friar,"  said  Fran- 
cesca,  amazed  at  the  Dominican's  dangerous  revelations. 

"  Why,  —  then  it  was  an  angel  I  beheld  opening  the 
entrance  to  the  tombs  below,  —  yea,  it  wore  thy  form," 
returned  the  duke,  gazing  fiercely  upon  her,  clutching 
her  hand  and  dashing  it  away.  "  Thou  —  thou,  too,  hast 
betrayed  me!  I  see  it  all  now!  That  Lombard  puppet 
is  but  the  spy  of  thy  kinsman,  who  dared  not  beard  me 
openly,  but  I  have  provided  against  even  this  stroke  of 
treason  and  ingratitude." 

"  Spy,  —  treason,  —  ingratitude  ?  Monster,  thou  who 
shed  a  gloom  around  the  name  of  an  innocent  woman  to 
further  thy  fiendish  ends!     Monster!     And  my  life, — 


XCbe  Uorture  «•  Cbamber  259 

my  destroyed  name  and  fame,  —  I  could  slay  thee  with 
my  own  hands !  "  cried  Francesca,  starting  and  standing 
before  the  duke  in  an  attitude  of  wild  and  utter  defiance. 

"  We  shall  learn  of  this  anon,"  cried  the  duke,  his  eyes 
flaming  with  diabolical  and  frenzied  brilliancy,  but  the 
woman's  despair  had  passed  all  thoughts  of  fear. 

"  Barest  thou  speak  aught  'gainst  the  gray  hairs  of  him 
whose  heart  I  have  broken,  seducer  and  destroyer  that 
thou  art?  If  all  thy  crimes  obtain  their  just  revenge, 
the  fiend  himself  must  abdicate  his  tortures  to  thee !  But 
do  thy  worst !  I  smile  to  think  that  thy  kinswoman  is  at 
last  warned  against  thy  destructive  craft,  and  thine  in- 
tended victim,  the  Lombard,  has  escaped  thee ! " 

There  was  a  long  and  dreadful  silence,  during  which 
the  duke  gazed  steadfastly  at  his  companions. 

"  Lead  them  both  away,"  he  said,  at  last,  to  the  Cata- 
lan, starting  as  if  from  a  dream.  "  My  brain  is  on  fire, 
and  since  their  madness  laughs  at  the  paltry  tortures 
around  us,  we  will  devise  others.  Take  them  away, 
Crivello,  —  out  of  my  sight!  Magic  they  shall  indeed 
have  need  of,  if  either  of  them  leave  these  walls  again 
alive !  " 

"  Farewell,  then,"  said  Francesca,  calming  suddenly 
from  her  fury.  "  But  not  below,  —  it  should  be  here !  It 
would  be  an  expiation  to  perish  by  thy  hand!  Kill  me 
here,  Ferrando,  —  I  can  die  as  calmly  by  thy  hand  as 
the  lamb  that  has  followed  the  butcher  to  the  slaughter- 
house ! " 

"  And  therefore  thou  shalt  not ! "  replied  the  duke. 
"  Away  with  them  both  —  to  the  dungeons  beneath  the 
vaults ! " 

"  Dare  to  lay  thy  blood-stained  hands  on  Fra  Domen- 
ico,"  the  friar  spoke,  raising  himself  to  his  full  height, 
while  his  eyes  flashed  fire  and  his  pale  features  appeared 


36o  Castel  &el  /iDontc 

more  haggard  than  before,  "  and  I  will  hurl  thee  to  thy 
doom  ere  another  moon  has  been  born  in  the  skies !  " 

"Away  with  them,  ere  I  forget  myself,"  raged  the 
duke,  and  Crivello,  not  daring  to  intercede  for  the  Do- 
minican, humbly  obeyed.  Returning  in  an  excess  of 
perturbation,  which  kept  his  whole  frame  in  an  aspen 
tremble,  he  found  the  duke  so  lost  in  thought  that  it 
was  several  minutes  ere  he  noticed  his  entrance. 

"  My  lord,  —  and  is  all  lost  ?  "  he  said,  at  last,  in  a 
hollow  whisper. 

"Lost?  What  is  lost?  She  only  knows  what  she  ever 
suspected,  but  she  dares  not  betray  the  secret ! "  the  duke 
exclaimed,  noticing  the  words,  but  scarcely  the  speaker. 
"  Away !  Nothing  is  lost  while  I  remain  myself.  She 
will  weave  it  as  a  spell  of  terror  round  my  head ;  yet,  — 
deem  you  we  were  not  enjoying  our  siesta  in  the  dun- 
geons of  Palermo  if  the  king  believed  or  knew  this  tale? 
With  his  own  hands  would  he  avenge  that  fair-haired 
boy,  e'en  though  his  life  would  have  overshadowed  his 
throne.  But  I  tell  you  all  goes  well.  I  have  already 
foiled  them  all,"  continued  the  duke,  in  a  sort  of  delirious 
vivacity.  "  The  king  trusts  us  because  he  hears  the 
rumbling  under  the  cover  of  our  loyalty;  played  we  in 
truth  the  hypocrite,  we  would  long  have  been  smothered 
by  the  weight  of  suspicion.  As  for  our  secret  alliance 
with  Anjou,  —  I  need  but  the  proof  of  his  plotting  to 
force  from  him  the  lever  that  shall  lift  the  Latin  world. 
Think  you  I  rave,  Crivello  ?    Think  so  —  for  a  day !  " 

"  Might  we  not  learn  all  we  have  to  fear  from  the 
prisoners  below?"  replied  Crivello,  with  a  significant 
glance  at  the  instruments  of  torture. 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Catalan,  these  terrors  cannot  move 
them  in  their  present  frenzy,"  the  duke  said,  hurriedly. 
"  I  know  not  why,  —  but  even  her  fierce  spirit  against 


Ubc  Uorture-'Cbamber  261 

me  kindled  me  with  a  sort  of  pity.  I  would  not  have 
her  fine  limbs  marred  and  shattered  with  these  wrenching 
pangs." 

"  Hunger  and  thirst  might  do  something,  and  yet  not 
harm  her  beyond  repair,"  remarked  the  worthy  Castellan 
of  the  Torre.  "  I  have  known  thirst  very  grievous  to 
bear,  and  hers  would  be  the  more  clinging  since  the 
Oreto  flows  beneath  her  dungeon  bars." 

"  Deny  her  nothing !  It  is  the  mind,  not  the  body,  we 
must-  assail,"  returned  the  duke,  sternly.  "  But  some  one 
is  knocking  for  admission!  Our  expected  guest,  per- 
chance, —  admit  him,  Crivello,  and  conduct  him  hither. 
These  racks  are  strangely  truth  inspiring,  —  even  as  the 
presence  of  one's  confessor !  " 

The  Catalan  disappeared,  and  after  a  brief  interval, 
during  which  the  duke  paced  the  gloomy  chamber  with 
rapid  strides,  he  returned  with  the  Count  of  San  Severino. 
The  Apulian  recoiled  in  horror  at  the  sight  of  the  equip- 
ments, among  which  the  duke  moved  as  carelessly  as 
if  they  constituted  his  daily  pastime.  Upon  recognizing 
his  early  visitor,  the  duke,  with  a  grim  smile,  bade  him 
be  seated. 

"  What  a  gruesome  abode ! "  San  Severino  remarked, 
with  a  shudder,  vainly  endeavouring  to  appear  uncon- 
cerned, and  wincing  under  Altamura's  serpent  gaze. 

"  A  theatre  fit  to  stage  its  drama,"  the  duke  replied, 
with  a  supercilious  smile.  "  But  thou  comest  as  if  the 
wish  had  summoned  thee.  The  old  raven  was  croaking 
sorely.     Suspects  he  nothing  ?  " 

"  Nothing !  "  was  the  laconic  reply,  while  San  Severino 
uneasily  scanned  his  surroundings. 

"  And  he  left  convinced  ?  " 

A  hideous  smile  lit  up  the  Apulian's  features. 

"  He  came  to  the  grotto  prepared  to  see !  " 


262  Castel  Del  nDonte 

Altamura  nodded  approval. 

"  Caserta  will  work  out  his  own  revenge  —  and  ours." 

"  The  avalanche  has  started  that  shall  hurl  the  Hohen- 
staufen  to  their  doom,"  San  Severino,  slightly  reassured 
by  the  duke's  seemingly  preoccupied  air,  replied  with 
grim  satisfaction.  "  But  I  came  on  a  matter  to  me  of 
graver  import,  —  the  fulfilment  of  our  compact !  " 

"  The  fulfilment  of  our  compact !  "  the  duke  repeated, 
with  deliberate  slowness.    "  Is  the  hour  so  near  at  hand  ?  " 

"  Love  annihilates  time !  "  the  Apulian  exclaimed,  with 
a  show  of  bravado,  rising  suddenly,  then  reseating  him- 
self. 

The  duke  regarded  his  visitor  with  a  strange  look. 

"  Thou  admirest  our  kinswoman's  shape !  I  fear  she 
is  less  fond  of  thine.  She  has  never  evinced  passion  for 
bones  either  in  fish  or  flesh," 

San  Severino  coloured  to  his  very  temples. 

"  By  San  Gennaro,  duke,  the  jest  goes  too  far! " 

The  duke  laughed. 

"  What  wouldst  thou  have,  San  Severino  ?  I  fear  we 
do  not  quite  comprehend  each  other.  Speak  out,  man, 
speak  boldly,  for  none  hears  thee  save  the  devil,  thy 
sponsor,  and  Altamura,  thy  friend !  " 

"  Truly,  thou  art  in  a  most  jocund  mood,"  the  Apulian 
growled,  with  ill-concealed  vexation.  "  Caserta  has  seen 
Manfred  and  Violanthe;  I  crave  the  hand  of  the  lady 
of  Miraval,  which  thou  hast  promised  me  in  no  uncertain 
terms !  " 

"  Thou  sayest  I  promised  thee  the  hand  of  the  lady 
of  Miraval !  "  the  duke  spoke,  after  a  brief  pause.  "  I 
told  thee,  go  and  woo  her,  if  she  will  have  thee  for  her 
husband  I  bless  the  union.    Hast  thou  done  according?" 

"Have  I  done  according?"  exclaimed  the  Apulian, 
with  flashing  eyes.    "  Ask  thy  Spanish  man-at-arms  what 


Ube  Uorture «» Cbamber  265 

befell  the  most  devoted  of  suitors  on  the  threshold  of 
his  lady's  chamber.  I  will  kill  the  varlet,  —  I  have  sworn 
it!" 

"  Thou  art  quite  right ! "  the  duke  replied,  with  a 
sneering  smile.  "  Why  shouldst  thou  pine  for  unrequited 
love,  since  God  created  woman  in  his  ire?  But  hopest 
thou  in  very  truth  that  the  Duke  of  Altamura  will  force 
his  kinswoman  to  wed  against  her  will  ?  " 

"  Your  Grace  is  pleased  to  make  me  a  fool  and  a 
mock !  I  care  not  how  I  win  the  lady,  whether  it  be 
with  her  consent  or  without,  —  nor  is  it  too  late  to  whis- 
per a  word  in  Caserta's  ear." 

"  With  her  consent  or  without,"  repeated  the  duke, 
absently,  as  if  struck  with  some  dark  thought.  Then, 
seating  himself  opposite  his  visitor  on  an  instrument  of 
torture,  he  gazed  abstractedly  at  the  dark  curtain  behind 
San  Severino.  Just  then  the  head  of  Crivello  peered 
through,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  his  master  as  if  for  some 
signal.    The  duke  nodded,  and  Crivello  disappeared. 

"  Perchance  the  lady  may  repent  of  her  harshness  and 
consent  to  receive  the  bird  she  has  rejected  into  her  bower. 
But  I  tell  thee,  count,  —  rather  than  wed  this  lady,  were 
she  Dame  Venus  herself,  I  would  wed  the  fiend's  eldest 
daughter,  with  damnation  for  her  dowry !  " 

"Were  she  even  that,  and  death  the  high  priest  to 
solemnize  our  nuptials,  I  would  go  to  my  grave  with 
rapture  if  only  her  beauty  shared  it  with  me,"  replied 
the  unmoved  Apulian. 

The  duke  shrugged  his  shoulders,  while  a  sardonic 
smile  played  around  his  lips. 

"  Ye  cannot  blame  some  eggs  for  hatching  crocodiles, 
—  though  perchance  it  is  the  devil's  masterpiece." 

San  Severino's  dismal  aspect  acknowledged  the  effect 


264  Castel  Del  /iDonte 

of  the  duke's  observation,  and  the  latter,  receiving  no 
reply  to  his  eulogy,  continued: 

"  It  cannot  be  her  maiden  modesty  that  gives  thy  love 
such  frosty  sunshine,  thus  preventing  thee  from  becom- 
ing fortune's  idiot.  It  is  in  vain  to  deny  what  the  whole 
world  whispers,  —  ask  me  not  whence  I  derive  my 
knowledge.  Once  more,  San  Severino,  let  thy  request 
wait  the  hour.     The  lady  may  repent." 

"  The  party  of  San  Severino  did  not  conclude  as  advan- 
tageous a  peace  with  Frederick's  bastard  as  the  Duke  of 
Altamura!  I  demand  the  immediate  fulfilment  of  the 
promised  nuptials." 

"What  wouldst  thou  have,  San  Severino?  The  iron 
crown  of  Lombardy,  the  Holy  Grail,  or  the  eye-teeth  of 
the  caliph?  Deemest  thou  the  lady  of  Miraval  so  obe- 
dient?" 

"  Once  thou  wert  not  wont  to  ask  her  pleasure !  " 

"  That  was  ere  that  cursed  Lombard,  on  whom  she 
squanders  her  doting  fancies,  came  to  Palermo.  But  for 
the  sincerity  of  my  intents,  this  confidence  may  vouch, 
and,  moreover,  I  frankly  avow  that,  if  I  saw  not  my 
own  interests  in  thine,  I  should  have  sought  my  allies 
in  some  other  quarter.  Heed  not  my  humours,  strange 
as  they  may  seem,  for  women  are  ever  a  thorn  in  my 
side.  But,  —  is  it  possible,  —  thou  wearest  steel  beneath 
satin  ?  "  the  duke  concluded,  with  a  sneer,  as  San  Sever- 
ino's  silken  doublet,  parting  at  the  throat  owing  to  the 
defective  fastening  of  the  clasp,  revealed  a  coat  of  linked 
mail  beneath. 

"  I  do,"  the  Apulian  replied,  stung  to  the  quick  by  this 
hidden  taunt,  "and  take  antidotes  before  all  meals,  and 
sleep  in  chambers  so  well  barred  and  locked  that  even 
the  invisible  slayers  of  the  youth  Enrico  can  hardly 
come  at  my  throat." 


Ubc  Uorture  *  Cbamber  265 

"And  thou  dost  well,"  the  duke  slowly  replied,  while 
he  rose,  and  a  sinister  light  gleamed  in  his  eyes,  "  for 
he  who  aspires  to  the  love  of  our  kinswoman  is  apt  to 
clasp  the  burning  hand  of  the  devil  in  the  leaves  instead 
of  the  golden  fruit.    Ho,  Crivello  —  " 

Before  the  import  of  Altamura's  speech  dawned  on  the 
outwitted  tool  of  the  duke's  intrigues,  he  heard  the  rush 
of  armed  feet,  and  ere  another  word  was  spoken  he  felt 
his  arms  clutched  on  both  sides  and  found  himself  sur- 
rounded by  a  group  of  Crivello's  Catalans. 

"  Nay,  —  look  not  so  black,  San  Severino,  —  'tis  but 
thine  executioners  who  stand  behind  thee,"  Altamura 
sneered,  as  with  arms  folded  across  his  chest  he  eyed  his 
victim.  "  Ha !  Thou  didst  well  to  trust  thyself  in  the 
lion's  den.  It  is  not  too  late  to  whisper  a  word  in 
Caserta's  ear?  I  will  send  thee  to  hell,  San  Severino, 
for  the  devil  to  make  sport  of  thy  soul,  but  ere  thou 
goest  my  strangler  shall  make  sport  of  thy  carcass !  " 

Every  trace  of  colour  deserted  the  cheeks  of  the  trapped 
dupe  of  Altamura  at  these  terrible  words. 

"  May  then  my  curse  overtake  thee  on  the  loftiest  pin- 
nacle of  thy  misbegotten  power  and  damn  thee  below 
Cain,  thy  prototype,"  yelled  the  infuriated  nobleman, 
making  a  desperate  effort  to  spring  at  his  betrayer,  but 
the  men-at-arms  locked  him  too  firmly  in  their  grasp. 

"  I  have  slept  calmly  under  a  mountain  of  woman's 
curses,  and  I  do  not  think  men's  weigh  much  heavier," 
replied  the  duke,  with  a  shrug.    "  Away  with  him !  " 

After  the  doomed  Apulian  had  been  led  away  by  his 
captors,  the  duke  remained  for  a  few  moments  alone, 
awaiting  Crivello's  return.  The  Catalan  soon  reentered 
the  chamber  with  a  significant  nod. 

"  The  Lombard  still  living  ?  "  The  duke  turned  to  his 
follower.    "  Thou  hast  wondrous  ill  luck,  Don  Crivello,  — 


366  Castel  ^el  /Ibonte 

wondrous  ill  luck!  Remain  in  the  Torre  and  keep  sure 
watch,  and  have  thou  the  thousand  eyes  of  Argus  on 
what  passes  here ;  let  all  who  wish  to  enter  come  in,  — 
but  let  no  one  depart !  "  The  duke  then  wrapped  himself 
in  his  mantle  and  abruptly  left  the  chamber.  The  cas- 
tellan, after  a  last  parting  glance  at  his  retreating  form, 
disappeared  in  the  dark  recesses  of  the  Torre  del  Dia- 
volo. 

Entering  upon  a  narrow,  winding  path,  which  was 
completely  obscured  from  view  by  overhanging  branches 
and  thickly  entwined  shrubbery,  the  duke  was  soon  lost 
amidst  the  trees  and  underbrush  of  the  vale  of  the  Oreto. 
The  dark  outlines  of  the  monastery  of  the  Capuchins, 
with  its  huge  subterranean  galleries  of  mummified  monks, 
widening  here  and  there  into  spacious  halls,  unroofed  and 
open  to  the  air  of  heaven,  were  reflected  against  the  clear 
blue  sky.  Toward  this  romantic  labyrinth  the  duke 
wended  his  steps.  Gradually  the  path  began  to  slope 
between  horizontally  rising  walls  of  rock,  whence  orange- 
trees  sent  their  luxuriant  shoots  upward  to  greet  the 
light.  Here  and  there  the  wild  fig  burst  from  the  living 
rock,  mixed  with  lentisk  and  pendent  caper-plants.  Old 
olive-trees  split  the  mosses  of  perpendicular  cliffs  with 
their  corded,  tough,  and  snakelike  roots,  while  the  pome- 
granates gleamed  flamelike  amidst  the  foliage  of  lustrous 
green.  The  ivy  hung  in  long  festoons,  waving  like  tap- 
estry in  the  breath  of  stealthy  breezes.  The  curly  leaves 
of  a  tangle  of  acanthus  gave  scant  admission  to  the  rays 
of  the  noonday  sun,  which  flooded  with  golden  haze  the 
surrounding  groves  and  loggias.  In  the  far  perspective 
the  cloisters  of  Monreale,  with  their  adjacent  cypress- 
groves,  stood  out  in  clear  silhouette  against  the  horizon. 

The  duke  entered  the  loggia,  the  deserted  appearance 
of  which  justified  the  theory  that  it  served  as  an  abode 


xrbc  Xlorturc-Cbambct  267 

of  crime,  or  worse.  Soon  after,  strange,  muffled  forms 
were  to  be  seen  approaching  the  lonely  villa  and  disap- 
pearing in  its  dark  recesses.  One  by  one  they  came,  and 
after  some  twenty  had  made  the  descent  the  influx  ceased 
and  no  sound  of  human  tread  broke  the  noonday  stillness. 

The  moon  was  shining  brightly  in  cloudless  heavens 
when  the  duke,  the  last  to  emerge,  stepped  from  the 
loggia.  Nodding  approval  at  the  deserted  state  of  the 
Locanda,  he  was  about  to  retrace  his  steps  toward  the 
Torre,  when  he  recoiled  as  if  he  had  been  bitten  by  a 
snake,  for  before  him,  as  if  they  had  risen  from  the 
bowels  of  the  earth,  stood  the  two  Moorish  hags.  Upon 
recognizing  him  they  instantly  bowed  with  many  gro- 
tesque Oriental  bends,  but  the  lurking  scorn  on  the  blue 
lips  of  the  one,  the  viperous  glitter  in  the  black  eyes  of 
the  other,  would  have  caused  alarm  in  a  heart  less  stout 
than  that  of  the  duke. 

"  Good  even,  sisters  of  hell,  what  seek  ye  on  hallowed 
ground  at  this  hour  ?  "  he  burst  forth,  as  soon  as  he  had 
recognized  the  noble  pair. 

The  older  gave  a  dark  and  lowering  scowl,  pursing  up 
her  thin  lips,  while  the  younger  smiled  more  terribly. 

"  We  seek  an  herb  which  grows  but  on  the  graves  of 
suicides  and  murderers,"  she  said.  "  Our  star  guided  us 
hither,  —  though  our  search  has  just  begun." 

Glancing  with  mingled  loathing  and  terror  at  their 
fiendish  countenances,  the  duke  abruptly  commanded 
them  to  declare  for  whom  they  were  gathering  the  noc- 
turnal herb. 

"  It  is  for  the  noble  duke,"  the  younger  of  the  sisters 
declared.  "  Our  star  has  told  us  that  the  noble  duke 
will  shortly  require  a  potion,  and  it  must  be  brewed  under 
influences  which  require  some  delay.    We  have  brewed  it 


268  Castel  &el  (fbontc 

for  many  generations  of  men  in  one  century  of  time,  we, 
;who  have  seen  three  generations  from  cradle  to  tomb." 

A  suspicion  flashed  across  the  duke's  mind,  and  he 
asked,  quickly: 

"  Mean  ye  a  love  potion,  nocturnal  sisters,  something 
to  overcome  coldness,  —  indifference,  —  aversion  ?  " 

The  two  hags  looked  at  each  other  with  a  sinister  smile, 
which  strengthened  the  duke's  suspicions. 

"  Hags !  Fiends !  "  he  burst  out,  in  sudden  fury.  "  Is 
it  for  the  lady  in  the  Torre  ye  are  using  your  nightly 
skill?  Confess  it,  —  or,  by  your  false  prophet,  I  will 
have  ye  smoked  out  of  your  devil's  garden  ere  the  moon 
be  two  hours  older !  " 

"  Pillar  of  wisdom,"  said  the  elder,  with  a  grotesque 
bow,  "  we  brew  not  for  the  lady,  we  brew  for  thee,  noble 
duke.  Thou  wilt  require  our  art  to  silence  the  shades 
who  rise  from  their  graves  at  the  dread  midnight  hour, 
—  and  they  demand  a  victim." 

The  duke  shuddered. 

"  I  know  something  of  your  art ;  I  know  ye  have  dire- 
ful secrets.  Ancient  women,  do  ye  but  jest  or  make  vaunt 
of  a  knowledge  ye  do  not  possess?  Who  is  it  ye  are 
weaving  this  spell  for  ?  " 

The  sorceresses  looked  at  each  other  as  if  taking  silent 
counsel,  then  the  one  who  had  been  the  spokeswoman 
replied  with  a  bow : 

"  That  we  may  not  reveal.  But  if  your  Grace  will 
deign  to  accept  the  proof  of  our  skill,  —  and  we  have 
secrets  to  make  the  very  fiend  beautiful,  —  the  castellan 
wishes  us  well  —  " 

"  I  care  naught  to  have  the  fiend  beautified,"  replied 
the  duke,  "but,"  he  added,  as  if  struck  with  a  certain 
thought,  "  if  ye  could  procure  some  elixir  of  a  —  tran- 
scendent power,  I  would  reward  your  toil  as  richly  as 


Ubc  Uorture  *  Cbamber  269 

a  dying  king  the  physician  who  restores  him  to  life  and 
health." 

"  You  tax  our  skill  too  lightly,  glorious  duke ;  the  es- 
sence you  require  is  one  of  the  least  of  the  secrets  we 
possess." 

The  duke  mused  profoundly  for  several  minutes,  the 
two  sisters  watching  him  with  intense  eagerness,  but 
when  he  raised  his  eyes  and  encountered  the  gray,  malig- 
nant twinkle  in  the  snakelike  orbs  of  the  older,  he  gave 
a  start,  and  the  same  undefined  suspicion  seemed  to  re- 
enter his  mind. 

"  Spare  thine  eloquence,"  he  said ;  "  what  I  see  of 
thy  skill,  that  will  I  believe,  but  be  well  assured  that  the 
ingredients  of  your  charm  work  their  unpronounced  in- 
tent, else  worse  will  happen  to  yourselves  than  even  the 
torture-chambers  ye  have  seen  wot  of."  Again  the  hags 
looked  at  each  other  in  silence,  but,  bending  low,  the  elder 
said,  with  Oriental  apathy: 

"  The  noble  duke  was  born  to  command,  and  we  to 
obey." 


CHAPTER  Xi 

THE  SPECTRE  OF  THE  TORRE 

It  was  a  day  or  two  after  these  events,  and  an  hour 
or  two  after  sunset. 

Crivello  the  castellan  was  fretfully  perambulating  in  a 
gallery  of  the  Torre  del  Diavolo,  examining  doors  and 
windows,  and  at  times  pausing  to  listen,  when  suddenly 
he  felt  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  Starting  around,  he 
beheld  a  muffled  figure,  the  brim  of  the  broad  Spanish 
hat  drawn  deeply  over  his  eyes.  His  hand  flew  to  his 
poniard,  but  the  stranger  raised  the  broad  lapels  of  his 
hat,  disclosing  the  features  of  Altamura. 

"  Hope  has  a  light  step,  for  I  have  walked  in  your 
tracks  these  minutes  and  yet  you  caught  no  echo,"  said 
the  duke.  "  Be  not  amazed  at  my  sudden  appearance. 
How  fares  San  Severino  ?  " 

"  He  has  been  seized  with  a  sudden  and  most  dangerous 
colic,"  replied  the  castellan,  gravely. 

"  He  must  recover,  Crivello,  —  hear  you,  he  must  re- 
cover! We  have  promised  his  carcass  to  Zem  to  make 
sport  with ;  we  would  not  cheat  the  African  out  of  his  pas- 
time. But  strange  words  the  king  has  spoken  in  hearing 
of  a  friend  of  mine,"  the  duke  continued,  gloomily.  "  I 
tell  you,  Crivello,  we  have  no  time  to  lose!  Vengeance 
speeds  fast!    We  will  take  the  monk  from  his  tortures 

270 


Ube  Spectre  ot  tbe  Uorre  «7i 

and  give  him  breath  for  awhile;  perhaps  he  may  prove 
more  pliant  and  willing-  to  execute  our  behests !  " 

Crivello  stared  at  the  duke,  but  spoke  not. 

"  What  ails  you,  captain  ?  Have  you  seen  a  spectre 
in  these  dungeons  ?  " 

"  Ay  —  a  spectre  I  have  seen,  your  Grace  —  and  the 
monk  has  disappeared." 

"  The  monk  has  disappeared  ?  "  echoed  the  duke,  turn- 
ing pale  with  rage.  "  Then  you  too  have  dared  to  disobey 
me?" 

"  Nay,  my  lord,  I  have  not  relaxed  my  watchfulness 
one  moment  since  your  Grace  left  the  castle." 

"  And  you  have  no  inkling  of  the  monk's  opportuni- 
ties?" 

"  I  examined  every  crack  and  crevice  in  the  wall ;  not 
a  bat  could  escape!     It  is  a  miracle." 

"  It  will  be  a  miracle  if  you  keep  your  head  on  your 
shoulders !    What  of  the  Moorish  wanton  ?  " 

"  She  is  dying  fast ;  the  air  of  the  dungeons  is  very 
withering  when  one  is  young,  and  her  thoughts  eat  into 
her.  It  would  be  an  act  of  mercy  to  put  her  out  of  her 
misery,"  concluded  the  tender-hearted  castellan. 

"  It  cannot  be  the  dungeon  air,  for  Francesca  lives," 
the  duke  replied,  pensively,  disregarding  Crivello's  sug- 
gestion. 

"  Ay,  my  lord,  the  lady  Francesca  hath  some  great 
hope  to  comfort  her,  though  it  is  hardly  something 
heavenly,  since  she  laughs  aloud  when  I  bid  her  think  of 
repentance." 

"  Lead  me  to  the  monk's  dungeon,  we  will  convince 
ourselves  in  person,"  the  duke  said,  abruptly,  and  the 
castellan,  though  he  crossed  himself  repeatedly,  instantly 
obeyed  and  led  the  way  to  a  subterranean  cell  at  so  great 


272  Castel  del  /iDonte 

a  depth  that  all  the  light  was  lost,  and  the  air  smelled 
foul  and  rank,  as  in  a  sepulchre. 

The  duke  entered  the  friar's  dungeon  alone,  taking 
the  lamp  from  the  castellan  and  requesting  him  to  wait 
outside.  Even  with  the  aid  of  the  light,  which  shed  a 
pale  and  sickly  glimmer  through  the  noisome  air,  it  was 
some  moments  ere  he  could  discern  the  objects  in  the 
interior  of  the  cell.  A  block,  a  heavy  chain,  a  rude 
bench  were  seen,  but  no  human  being,  and  the  silence 
of  death  was  broken  only  by  the  regular  trickling  of  a 
drop  of  water  which  oozed  through  a  crevice  in  the  wall, 
and  fell  unceasingly  with  the  same  eternal  monotony  of 
splash.  Listening  for  a  few  moments,  and  finding  him- 
self alone,  the  duke  carefully  traversed  the  chamber, 
and  examined  every  stone,  touching  them  with  the  hilt 
of  his  poniard,  then  he  shook  his  head  half  incredulously, 
half  in  wonder,  and  slowly  backed  out,  letting  the  door 
fall  into  the  lock  with  such  force  that  the  metallic  clang 
resounded  ominously  through  the  dark  corridors.  The 
castellan  was  waiting  outside  in  the  darkness,  trembling 
with  fear,  for,  while  caring  no  more  for  a  human  life  than 
that  of  a  fly,  Crivello  had  a  marvellous  dread  of  the 
powers  of  the  nether  world.  The  duke  cast  a  fearful 
glance  at  his  follower  as  he  handed  him  the  light,  and  they 
traversed  in  silence  the  dark  corridor  leading  to  the  wind- 
ing stairs. 

"Crivello,  this  is  some  jeer  of  the  fiend,  —  or  you 
are  a  traitor ! "  Altamura  said,  at  last,  riveting  his  gaze 
upon  the  castellan's  pale  visage,  then  suddenly  clutch- 
ing him  by  the  throat. 

"  My  lord,  as  I  live,  I  know  not  by  what  miracle  he 
has  escaped,"  gasped  Crivello,  endeavouring  to  free  him- 
self from  the  iron  vice,  when  suddenly  he  threw  up 
both  hands  and  uttered  a  loud  shriek. 


Ube  Spectre  ot  tbe  XTorre  ars 

The  duke  glared  around  with  burning  eyes,  his  fingers 
relaxing  their  hold  around  the  Castellan's  throat;  he 
stared  pale  and  speechless  at  the  uncanny  apparition 
which,  apparently  unconscious  of  not  being  alone,  slowly 
advanced  toward  them,  muttering  and  mumbling  with 
strange  gestures.  A  second  look  made  even  the  duke 
commend  his  soul  to  the  keeping  of  the  saints,  for  in  the 
bent  and  muffled  figure  he  recognized  none  other  than 
the  black  penitent ;  he  wore  a  hooded  cover  over  his  head, 
and  walked  almost  bent  double,  while  his  white  beard, 
protruding  from  under  the  seemingly  eyeless  mask, 
seemed  to  sweep  the  ground. 

Listening  intently,  the  duke  distinguished  some  words 
of  his  most  dismal  soliloquy,  as  he  slowly  approached, 
dragging  his  sandalled  feet  after  him,  his  steps  grating 
on  the  sandstone. 

"  Fiend,  thou  liest  —  for  I  believe !  I  believe  and  I 
pray  but  for  a  sign,  that  I  may  believe  without  doubting. 
Fate  —  destiny,  —  we  cannot  escape  it,  —  if  it  came  but  a 
little  faster;  —  I  am  not  impatient,  —  if  it  came  but  a 
little  faster !  And  then  the  end,  —  the  end ;  darkness,  — 
judgment,  —  eternity !  " 

"  The  sign  has  come,  —  awake,  awake !  "  cried  the  duke, 
throwing  the  light  of  his  lamp  upon  the  magician,  who 
seemingly  without  heeding  the  presence  and  interrup- 
tion proceeded  upon  his  way. 

"  I  see  the  light  of  thy  presence,  —  but  not  thy  form," 
he  gibbered.  "Art  thou  an  angel,  or  but  the  mocking 
fiend  who  heaps  upon  man's  brains  thoughts  too  heavy 
to  be  borne  ?  '* 

"  I  am  not  an  angel,"  replied  the  duke,  calmly,  "  al- 
though women  have  called  me  sol  But  methinks  thy 
memory  will  tell  thee  who  I  am." 

"  Apage  Satanasl"  mumbled  the  penitent,  in  louder 


274  Castcl  t)el  /iDonte 

tones.  "  I  spat  in  thy  face,  —  I  dashed  thee  from  me,  — 
I  cursed  thy  loveliness,  —  begone,  begone !  " 

"A  devil  I  may  be,  —  but  my  loveliness  is  not  seduc- 
tive,—  and  even  the  devils  are  constrained  to  work  the 
good  purposes  of  heaven,"  said  the  duke,  sedately. 
"  Thou  hast  once  prophesied  great  things  of  my  future, 
—  the  time  is  at  hand  and  thou  art  the  one  I  have  most 
fervently  wished  for." 

The  black  penitent  glared  vacantly  at  the  duke  as  he 
uttered  these  words,  but  hardly  seemed  to  comprehend 
their  meaning.  He  repeated  them  with  a  strange,  won- 
dering expression,  as  if  vainly  endeavouring  to  grasp 
the  thought  they  conveyed.  The  duke  patiently  waited 
the  result,  while  Crivello's  frame  shook  in  abject  fear. 

"  I  shall  soon  have  use  for  thee,"  he  continued,  slowly, 
"  for  there  will  be  work  for  both  of  us  when  Italy  has 
a  new  king,  —  the  West  a  new  emperor !  We  shall  make 
a  new  division,  —  the  legacy  of  Theodosius  has  grown 
mouldy.  And  I  swear  to  thee  I  will  protect  thee  in  thy 
labours,  —  this  castle  shall  be  thy  retreat,  and  thou  shalt 
work  such  miracles  that  the  very  pontiff  thou  shalt  send 
to  heaven  shall  cause  thy  name  to  be  glorified  for  ever 
and  ever  —  Amen ! "  the  duke  finished  his  speech,  imi- 
tating the  nasal  chant  of  the  clergy. 

"  Thou  art  the  duke,  then,  —  thou  art  Altamura,"  said 
the  penitent,  vacantly,  "  and  is  it  thee  I  am  to  aid  in 
this  work  ?  " 

"  Even  so,  wizard,  or  sorcerer,  or  both,  —  dost  hear  ?  " 
exclaimed  the  duke,  impatiently. 

"  I  hear,"  the  penitent  replied,  but  the  qtJestion  was  not 
uncalled  for,  so  statue-like  was  his  countenance. 

"  Guelph  and  Ghibelline,  —  tiger  and  wolf  couch  not 
together!  I  tell  thee  there  will  shortly  be  an  emperor 
in  Rome,"  the  duke  continued.     "  Hast  thou  not  thyself 


XCbe  Spectre  of  tbe  XTorte  275 

conjured  up  the  phantom  before  me,  —  hast  thou  not 
thyself  denounced  the  archfiend  and  Antichrist?" 

The  effect  of  these  words  was  so  instantaneous  that 
the  revival  of  the  wizard's  slumbering  intellect  seemed 
almost  miraculous. 

"  Who  denies  but  damns  himself,"  he  replied. 

"  Not  I,"  cried  the  duke,  "  for  I  have  ventured  upon 
a  most  perilous  course  to  hasten  the  end,  and  verily  the 
hour  is  nigh." 

The  penitent's  head  sank  again  upon  his  breast,  and  he 
mumbled  some  unintelligible  words. 

"  There  is  much  at  stake,"  said  the  duke,  with  solemn 
emphasis.  "  Anjou  will  claim  these  fair  lands,  and  the 
volcano  must  be  prepared  that  will  hurl  him  to  his  des- 
tiny ere  he  plant  his  foot  in  our  Apulian  strongholds. 
I  must  be  lord  and  master,  or  betake  myself  for  shelter 
—  whither?  Hardly  the  grave  can  yield  it.  Therefore 
I  would  have  thee  spread  tidings  of  the  events  at  hand 
among  the  superstitious  populace,  —  thou  understandest  ? 
And  when  the  mighty  avalanche  has  hurled  the  Hohen- 
staufens  to  their  tomb,  —  when  I  am  master,  thou  shalt 
have  thine  own  sway  to  do  as  thy  barefoot  fancies  lead 
thee.  Nay,  —  I  have  such  a  miracle  in  store  for  thee 
as  shall  persuade  the  most  incredulous  that  thine  errand 
comes  from  above." 

"What?  A  miracle?  More  miracles?  There  are 
some  things  more  miraculous  than  those  the  vulgar  call 
so,"  said  the  penitent,  after  a  moment's  hesitation. 

"  I  will  tell  thee,"  the  duke  spoke,  in  an  undertone. 
"  When  the  crisis  is  at  hand  the  king  will  give  a  parting 
feast.  Thou  shalt  appear  at  it  quite  as  extempo,  as  the 
prophet  of  Israel  at  the  Assyrian  banquet,  —  thou  shalt 
accuse  the  king  of  having  foully  slain  sire  and  brother; 
in  proof  of  his  crimes  and  thy  mission  thou  shalt  invoke 


276  Castel  t>cl  /ftonte 

the  sudden  vengeance  of  Heaven  on  the  head  of  him  and 
his  adherents.  And  thereupon  I  tell  thee,  not  one  whom 
ever  Altamura  frowned  upon  will  leave  the  feast  alive." 

"  Misfortune  makes  men  doubt !  How  is  this  miracle 
to  come  to  pass  ?  "  said  the  black  penitent,  after  a  brief 
pause. 

"  Thou  wilt  deceive  none !  Hast  thou  not  interest 
enough  in  heaven  to  turn  thy  curses  into  lightnings  ?  " 

"  I  doubt  it,"  replied  the  penitent,  "  since  thou  standest 
before  me  unblasted.     Thou  seest  I  dissemble  not." 

"  Neither  will  I.  Listen,  then !  Two  Moorish  dames 
of  such  rare  beauty  as  to  make  the  very  fiend  covetous  of 
their  society  have  assisted  me  in  bottling  some  rare 
wines,"  said  the  duke,  tranquilly  folding  his  arms. 

"  But  fearest  thou  not  that  chance  may  for  once  be 
guided  by  an  angel  and  pour  the  draught  into  thine  own 
chalice  ? "  replied  the  magician,  with  a  dark  glance  up- 
ward. 

"  The  butlers  are  my  true  servants,  and  the  precious 
wines  reserved  for  my  friends  are  all  distinguished  by 
an  infallible  token,"  replied  the  duke,  laughing,  yet  with 
some  irritation  at  the  bare  supposition  of  so  gross  a 
blunder. 

"  But  to  call  down  a  miracle,  and  none  to  follow,  — 
what  manner  of  saint  were  I  then  ?  "  said  the  penitent, 
after  another  pause  of  profound  rumination. 

"Dost  thou  doubt?"  the  duke  exclaimed,  impatiently. 

"  Duke  —  I  understand  thee !  But  thou  art  certain 
that  the  poison  is  deadly,  tasteless,  and  indiscernible  ?  " 

A  terrible  smile  lingered  on  Altamura's  lips. 

"  I  am  tired  of  these  Plutonian  sisters,  whose  direful 
practices,  against  which  the  very  watchfulness  of  a  Cer- 
berus were  in  vain,  may  some  day  return  upon  the  user. 


XCbe  Spectre  of  tbe  Uorre  «7r 

And  truly,  if  they  who  mingled  the  draught  partake  of  it 
unwittingly  —  were  that  proof  enough  ?  " 

"  Proof  enough  —  and  justice !  Thou  wilt  release  them 
from  their  earthly  prison-house  ?  " 

"  Even  so,  and  from  their  time-withered  carcasses." 

"  I  recognize  the  sign !  Ha !  Ye  shapes  and  phan- 
toms—  mock  me  not!  Glare  not  at  me  with  your  leer- 
ing scowl,  —  I  recognize  the  sign !  "  exclaimed  the  magi- 
cian, with  such  enthusiasm  that  it  at  once  aroused  the 
suspicions  of  the  ever  wakeful  duke. 

"  Yet  —  mark  me  well,"  he  said.  "  Thou  hast  the 
hospitality  of  this  princely  abode,  but  thou  wilt  be  closely 
watched  by  one  who  knows  how  to  use  what  he  has  in 
his  hand." 

"  Thou  hast  said  I  am  a  magician,  but  it  seems  thou 
hast  no  faith  in  thine  own  belief,"  replied  the  penitent, 
hoarsely. 

"  Be  it  even  so,  —  beware !  " 

With  these  words  the  duke  raised  his  hand  as  if  in 
warning,  and,  departing  with  Crivello  in  the  gloom  of 
the  vaulted  archways,  left  the  black  penitent  to  himself. 
With  strange  mutterings  and  with  shuffling  steps  the 
adept  of  the  black  arts  continued  upon  his  way  and 
vanished  in  the  dread  shadows  of  the  corridors. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


CONSPIRACIES 


It  was  about  daybreak,  and  the  Duke  of  Altamura  was 
escorting  two  muffled  strangers  in  Spanish  garb  over  a 
back  stairway  of  his  dark  and  dismal  palace.  The  pas- 
sage seemed  only  used  by  himself,  for  he  locked  all  the 
doors  as  he  returned  from  his  office  of  civility,  and  con- 
cealed the  last  key  behind  an  old  suit  of  armour  hanging 
on  the  wall.  Then  he  rang  a  little  bell,  apparently  a 
signal,  for  Crivello  immediately  appeared.  He  bore  a 
most  gloomy  and  fretful  visage. 

"  Ha,  now !  What  says  my  lady-love  ?  By  the  three 
fates,  you  have  the  most  vinegarlike  aspect  that  ever  love's 
messenger  wore.  But  I  know  it  is  a  new  entreaty  for 
my  presence,"  said  the  duke,  with  a  gaiety  which  the 
castellan  of  the  Torre  del  Diavolo  thought  strangely  out 
of  season. 

"  I  see  it  by  that  writhing  in  your  face  which  in  your 
vocabulary  is  called  a  smile,"  the  duke  continued.  "  But 
no,  Crivello,  —  I  shall  refuse !  She  will  be  better  pleased 
if  I  appear  jealous,  —  therefore,  mark  you,  —  I  am 
jealous !  I  will  not  see  her,  —  I  will  not  come  till  fear 
for  her  life  vanquishes  every  other  consideration." 

"  Signor,  methinks  it  were  to  your  advantage  if  neither 
love  nor  hate  brought  you  near  her  again,  even  if  she 
were  still  in  the  dungeon  wherein  we  placed  her,  for  she 
has  escaped,  —  so  has  the  black  penitent." 

278 


Conspiracies  279 

"  By  the  foul  fiend,  —  what  say  you  ?  Escaped  —  es- 
caped ?  When  ?  How  ?  By  what  conveyance  ?  And  the 
black  penitent,  —  the  wizard,  likewise  ?  Speak,  man, 
speak,  or  must  I  choke  the  words  from  your  damned 
Spanish  throat? " 

"  I  have  always  told  you  it  brings  a  curse  upon  all  our 
enterprises  your  Grace  having  a  nun  for  a  paramour," 
replied  the  castellan,  doggedly. 

"  Escaped  —  escaped  ?  "  the  duke  reiterated,  as  if  all 
his  thoughts  dwelt  on  this  one  point.  "  But  no,  —  'tis 
impossible!  You  have  seen  spectres,  —  the  evil  imagin- 
ings of  your  overtaxed  sensibilities !  " 

"  I  have  seen  neither  spectre  nor  living  things,  —  the 
doors  of  the  cell  were  open  and  the  cell  was  empty." 

The  duke's  doubt  as  to  the  sanity  of  the  castellan 
seemed  gradually  to  vanish  before  his  determined  state- 
ment. 

"  You  are  somewhat  bolder  than  your  wont,"  he  said, 
with  slow  emphasis,  "  a  good  straw  to  show  whence  the 
wind  blows.  And  the  magician  gone,  too,  and  just  when 
I  would  give  a  thousand  crowns  to  see  him  again.  The 
council  meets  to-day,  and  there  will  be  ample  business  ere 
nightfall,  —  my  strangler  may  arrive  at  any  hour,  —  shall 
I  let  them  see  me  stand  agape  and  —  no !  She  will  return ! 
Mark  my  words,  Crivello,  she  will  return.  Betake  your- 
self at  once  to  the  Torre,  and  let  Argus  with  his  hundred 
eyes  be  as  a  blind  mole  compared  to  your  vigilance.  We 
shall  know  more  anon." 

"  No  diligence  shall  be  lost,  my  lord,"  Crivello  replied, 
"  for  already  men  prattle  boldly  enough  of  our  affairs." 

"  Look  here,  my  worthy  castellan,  if  any  one  has  a 
witty  attack  in  your  presence,  you  will  have  his  tongue 
slit  in  token  of  recognition,  —  and  now  begone !  " 

The  castellan  had  no  sooner  departed  than  the  duke 


28o  Castel  &el  /iDonte 

turned  to  his  companion,  who  had  hitherto  remained  in 
the  background. 

"  Thou  starest  as  pale  and  haggard  as  if  thou  hadst 
caroused  with  the  fiend !  "  The  duke  turned  with  a  dia- 
boHcal  smile  to  Reinald  Aquino,  Count  of  Caserta. 

"  He  were  fit  society  for  such  an  one  as  I,"  Caserta  re- 
plied, seating  himself  opposite  the  duke.  "  How  guileless 
her  bearing,  —  surely  guilt  forged  never  such  a  mask ! 
No  shadow  of  deceit  hovered  around  her  pure  white  brow, 
and  her  deep  concern  at  my  altered  state,  —  falsehood  has 
no  such  accents.  Could  I  but  have  speech  with  that 
meddling  villain,  —  my  vision  was  obscured,  my  brain  on 
fire,  —  I  was  easily  persuaded,  I  saw  what  I  was  told  to 
see !  "     He  paused,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands. 

The  duke  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  If  thou  hast  no  cause  against  the  king,  if  thou  pre- 
ferrest  thy  present  state  of  gilded  bondage,  —  we  want 
no  forced  allies.  If  thou  mistrustest  the  testimony  of 
thine  own  eyes,  Caserta,  who  dare  presume  to  counsel? 
The  wiles  of  women  are  great.  Thou  knowest  Pietro 
della  Vigne's  fate,  and  he  was  the  emperor's  bosom 
friend.  Incest  runs  in  the  blood,  —  yet,  —  I  have  said 
nothing." 

Caserta  started  up  as  if  stung  by  a  serpent. 

"  I  am  an  Apulian,  but  I  am  Manfred's  kinsman, 
Violanthe's  husband  —  bide  thou  thy  time !  " 

"  I  will  not  urge  thee  on,  Caserta.  Thou  wilt  be  one 
of  us  sooner  or  later.  Thou  art  an  Apulian,  even  though 
the  dupe  of  royalty.  I  have  despatched  messengers 
through  Calabria  and  Terra  di  Lavoro,  —  every  moment 
is  fraught  with  destiny.  The  beggar  monks,  the  filthy 
apostles  of  Anjou,  are  even  now  sowing  the  wind  that 
shall  breed  the  hurricane.  Every  baron  in  this  land  is 
pledged  to  our  cause,  and  when  the  thunder-clouds,  whose 


Conspttacfea  281 

distant  rumbling  thou  hearest  beneath  the  horizon,  rise 
above  its  surface,  the  fury  of  the  elements  will  sweep  the 
Hohenstaufen  empire  into  night  and  oblivion." 

"  The  people  love  Manfred,"  Caserta  replied,  al>- 
sently. 

"  The  people !  A  plague  upon  the  rabble !  They  gloat 
over  whatsoever  tickles  their  noisome  palates;  they 
shriek  for  whosoever  satisfies  their  low  desires,  and  their 
idol  of  to-day  is  their  scorn  of  to-morrow.  Slaves  to 
their  passions  they  shall  obey,  —  their  love  I  scorn !  " 

"  Can  we  rely  on  John  the  Moor  ? "  Caserta  inter- 
posed. 

"  Weighing  his  treachery  'gainst  a  talent  of  gold,  we 
may  trust  him  for  the  difference !  He  will  deliver  Lucera 
into  our  hands." 

A  significant  gesture  conveyed  the  duke's  meaning  to 
Caserta's  entire  satisfaction,  for  he  nodded  approval. 

"  But  now,  ere  we  part,  one  word,  Thomas  Aquino. 
Events  are  hastening  and  heaven  itself  has  decreed  Man- 
fred's destruction;  heaven  itself  has  struck  him  with 
blindness.  Within  an  hour  the  council  convenes,  —  wilt 
thou  be  one  of  us,  Caserta  ?  " 

"  No  more !  "  the  Apulian  returned,  fiercely.  "  I  like 
not  ranting  knaves,  whose  empty  boasts  would  not  stir 
a  snowflake  from  its  icy  Alpine  pinnacle.  Let  thy  re- 
quest wait  the  hour !  " 

Ere  the  duke  could  make  reply,  Reinald  Aquino,  Count 
of  Caserta,  had  without  a  word  of  farewell  left  the 
chamber,  and  for  a  moment  Altamura's  gaze  burnt  fiercely 
upon  his  retreating  form. 

"  Thou  shalt  be  convinced  to  thy  heart's  content,"  he 
muttered,  after  the  Apulian's  steps  had  died  away.  "  But 
woe  betide  thee  in  thy  new  converted  state,  Thomas 
Aquino !  " 


282  Castel  ^el  Oiontc 

And  purposely  delaying  until  he  knew  the  council  had 
assembled,  the  Duke  of  Altamura  made  his  appearance 
in  the  Sala  Regia  among  the  Icist  of  the  personages  of 
any  consequence. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

THE   MIDNIGHT   CITATION 

It  was  drawing  toward  sunset. 

Ottorino  had  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  day  in  his 
apartments  at  the  Moorish  palace  of  Khalesa,  whither  he 
had  been  conveyed  during  his  slumbers,  after  his  wounds 
had  been  pronounced  in  a  fair  way  toward  healing. 
Brooding  and  ruminating  over  Helena's  probable  share  in 
the  dastardly  attempt  upon  his  life,  and  over  the  revela- 
tions which  the  days  spent  under  Altamura's  roof  had 
brought  to  light,  as  well  as  over  the  Dominican's  strange 
persistence  and  the  absence  of  the  duke  from  the  sick- 
chamber,  he  was  in  a  most  unsociable  mood.  Just  then 
Canaletto  entered  his  apartment  apparently  sober,  and  with 
a  meaning  smile  informed  his  master  that  a  woman,  to  all 
appearances  young,  but  closely  veiled,  requested  an  inter- 
view. Ottorino,  being  in  no  mood  for  such  surprises, 
sternly  rebuked  Canaletto's  leer,  ordering  him  to  retire 
and  to  admit  the  visitor. 

A  female  form,  enveloped  in  a  dark  Venetian  mantle, 
glided  into  the  chamber,  and  the  Lombard's  surprise 
knew  no  bounds  when,  as  she  lifted  the  veil,  he  beheld  a 
visage  whose  fixed  pallor,  anguish,  and  determination 
recalled  that  of  the  Goddess  of  Destiny  on  the  piazza, 
while  her  matchless  form  bore  such  likeness  to  that 
of  Helena  di  Miraval  that,  had  he  not  seen  her  face,  he 

283 


284  Castel  del  Ubontc 

would  have  wagered  life  and  all  on  the  certainty  of 
beholding  the  kinswoman  of  the  duke. 

"  Pardon  me,  noble  Lombard,"  she  said,  "  and  if  my 
blood  in  your  eyes  seems  to  have  lost  all  its  woman's  tints 
for  this  intrusion,  my  purpose  will  at  least  clear  the 
dismal  queen  of  a  sepulchre  from  the  one  and  only  stain 
she  is  not  guilty  of.  Have  you  seen  me  before,  Ottorino 
Visconti  ?  " 

"  If  my  eyes  do  not  belie  me,  I  see  before  me  the  im- 
personation of  the  Goddess  of  Destiny,  who  spoke  strange 
words  to  me  in  passing,"  the  Lombard  faltered,  while 
motioning  his  visitor  to  an  ottoman,  at  the  very  edge  of 
which  she  sat  down,  resting  her  head  on  her  arms. 

"  Was  that  the  only  time  ? "  she  questioned  further. 

Ottorino  doubtingly  shook  his  head.  "  I  remember  no 
other,  —  yet  it  may  have  been  possible." 

"  You  remember  the  fairy,  that  lascivious  apparition  ?  " 

"  The  fairy  ?  The  Fata  Morgana  ?  "  the  Lombard  ex- 
claimed, springing  to  his  feet.  "  You !  —  and  it  was  not 
—  but  no,  no  —  I  am  dreaming  —  it  cannot  be !  " 

"  It  is !  I  took  the  shameless  part  at  the  behest  of 
another,  to  darken  the  fame  of  the  woman  you  loved, 
knowing  that  no  Visconti  will  mingle  his  regal  blood  with 
that  of  a  wanton.  Ha!  You  stagger,  —  you  stare? 
Knight,  there  is  vengeance,  vengeance  for  all,  —  no,  not 
for  all,"  she  continued,  with  a  sudden,  terrific  expression. 
"  No,  —  not  for  all.  He  has  wronged  me  beyond  all 
vengeance,  —  but  for  you,  —  are  you  still  in  a  mood  to 
acquire  the  knowledge  which  has  been  denied  you  ?  " 

"  I  am,"  Ottorino  replied,  with  fixed  determination,  "  at 
any  cost  and  every  risk." 

"Are  you  equally  resolved  to  ascertain  the  guilt  or 
innocence  of  her  to  whom  your  heart,  though  writhing 
in  agony,  returns  ever  and  ever  as  to  its  inexorable  fate  ?  " 


Ubc  ADi&nicl)t  Citation  is$ 

"Woman,  whoever  you  are,  what  know  you  of  her 

—  of  me  ?  "  Ottorino  exclaimed,  convulsed  with  strange 
feelings. 

"  Much  —  much,  which  a  strange,  a  marvellous  man 
has  revealed  to  me." 

"  A  Dominican  ?  " 

"  A  saint !  " 

"  Or  a  demon,  permitted  to  wear  that  form  in  order 
to  tempt  the  whole  race  of  mankind  to  a  fall  more  fearful 
than  the  first." 

"  We  wander  from  our  subject.  For  some  foul 
scheme  which  he  refused  to  execute,  the  duke  imprisoned 
the  monk  in  the  foulest  dungeon  of  his  castle,  but  a 
miracle  has  happened :  the  monk  is  free." 

"  Marvellous  indeed !  Perchance  to  seek  out  his  fair 
penitent,  to  shake  her  soul  with  the  terror  of  his  denun- 
ciation ?  " 

"  Patience,  good  knight,  —  bridle  your  haste !  You 
are  in  search  of  the  truth,  —  and  truth  you  shall  have 
until  you  shall  yourself  cry,  '  Enough ! '  " 

"Tell  me  this,  then:   Does  Helena  di  Miraval  love?" 

"  Helena  di  Miraval  loves !  She  loves  with  such  mad- 
ness that  her  passions  will  hurl  her  headlong  to  destruc- 
tion, and  with  her  the  object  of  her  worship." 

"  Tell  me  but  this,  to  teach  my  soul  patience  and  for- 
bearance —  who  is  the  favoured  one  ?  " 

A  shrill  laugh  broke  from  the  lips  of  the  Lombard's 
mysterious  visitor,  who  regarded  him  as  if  she  doubted 
his  sanity. 

"  The  favoured  one !  "  she  exclaimed.    "  Your  rival  is 

—  the  duke !  " 

Ottorino  staggered  as  if  he  had  been  dealt  a  mighty 
blow.    His  hand  went  to  his  forehead,  and  his  face  grew 


386  Castel  del  /l)onte 

pale  as  death.  For  a  moment  his  fair  visitor  feasted  her 
eyes  on  his  speechless  dismay,  then  she  continued : 

"  Patience,  knight,  —  patience !  I  know  a  dread  magi- 
cian who  has  promised  some  direful  revelations.  We 
all  know  your  double  purpose  here,  —  and  if  you  have 
but  the  courage  you  shall  behold  —  Enrico's  slayer !  " 

"What  know  you  of  me?"  faltered  the  Lombard. 

She  waved  her  hand  impatiently. 

"  I  came  not  hither  to  pry  into  your  secrets,  knight ! 
None  but  the  dead  can  reveal  the  mysteries  of  the  dead. 
You  shall  learn  all  if  you  have  the  courage,  —  a  courage 
which  I,  a  woman,  possess." 

"Again  —  what  is  your  behest?  The  presence  of 
death,  —  certainty,  —  I  long  but  for  one  conviction," 
Ottorino  replied,  with  a  shudder. 

"  To  learn  her  share  in  that  dismal  tragedy  ?  Have  you 
ever  heard  of  that  unearthly  magician,  Dom  Alamo,  one 
who  has  trod  this  earth  since  the  Saviour  has  walked  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  that  there  is  a  great  reward  proclaimed 
for  him,"  replied  Ottorino. 

"At  the  duke's  behest,  to  conjure  up  some  unbidden 
guest,  to  compel  to  utterance  the  dread  silence  of  the 
grave.  Now  to-night,  if  you  have  the  courage,  you  shall 
behold  the  murderer  in  the  presence  of  his  victim  and 
hear  him  reveal  the  depths  of  his  black  soul  in  the  horrors 
of  his  fear  and  deprecation." 

"  Can  the  grave  be  compelled  to  yield  up  its  fearful 
inhabitants  ?  "  questioned  Ottorino. 

"  If  the  spell  fails,  his  conscience  will  raise  the  spectres. 
And  other  listeners  than  the  demons  will  hear  the  truth 
from  those  lips  that  least  of  all  would  utter  it." 

"  And  where  is  this  mystery  to  be  enacted  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  cave  under  Monte  Pellegrino,  held  even 
in  antiquity  as  an  entrance  to  Tartarus.     The  fiends 


Ube  /IMt>niabt  Citation  287 

stalk  visibly  through  its  labyrinths,  howling  their  suffer- 
ings to  the  enduring  rocks.  Resolve,  Lombard,  —  and 
quickly!  For  I  must  return  to  my  place  of  anguish  like 
the  doomed  phantom  when  dawn  steals  over  churchyard 
graves.  If  you  want  to  set  your  soul  at  rest  for  ever, 
speak,  and  I  will  meet  you  at  the  marble  gate  disguised 
as  a  nun." 

Urged  by  the  desire  that  consumed  his  soul,  Ottorino 
pledged  himself  to  meet  his  mysterious  visitor  at  the 
appointed  spot.  A  glare  rather  than  a  smile  lit  up  Fran- 
cesca's  features,  and  with  a  mute  greeting  she  departed, 
gliding  noiselessly  from  the  apartment. 

The  discovery  that  he  had  been  deceived  in  the  sup- 
posed identity  of  Helena  and  the  fairy  would  have  elated 
Ottorino  beyond  bounds,  had  he  not  been  overwhelmed 
by  the  terrible  intelligence  concerning  his  rival.  There 
was  much  in  the  statement  to  convince  him  of  its  truth, 
which  explained  what  had  hitherto  seemed  unaccountable. 
But  while  with  frantic  eagerness  he  snatched  the  one 
weak  straw  that  might  restore  the  peace  which  had  gone 
from  his  soul,  a  dark  suspicion  entered  almost  simul- 
taneously. Might  not,  with  all  her  motives  of  vengeance, 
Francesca  di  Lesina  be  but  the  instrument  of  the  duke, 
employed  to  trap  him  to  his  destruction?  But  Ottorino 
could  not  bring  himself  to  believe  in  such  black  treachery. 
When  the  hour  had  come,  he  hastened  with  all  possible 
speed  to  the  place  of  appointment,  where  he  encountered 
a  woman  enveloped  in  the  habit  of  a  nun.  By  a  signal 
agreed  upon  he  knew  her  to  be  the  lady  of  the  Torre  del 
Diavolo. 

They  passed  in  silence  through  the  gates,  and,  leaving 
the  blooming  vale  of  the  Oreto  to  the  left,  proceeded 
quickly  over  fragrant  meadows.     The  antique  basilica 


288  Castel  t>el  /iDonte 

of  Santa  Onofria  soon  came  in  sight,  and  the  remote  swell 
of  monkish  chants  was  fitfully  audible  on  the  changes  of 
the  wind.  But  instead  of  following  the  beaten  track  by 
the  church,  they  turned  off  over  a  wild,  irregular  heath, 
diversified  by  deep  hollows  and  tall  clumps  of  bramble 
and  juniper  bushes.  Descending  one  of  these  little  dells, 
which  seemed  as  if  excavated  in  the  sandy  soil  at  some 
remote  period,  they  arrived  in  front  of  the  towering 
mountain  which  stretched  like  a  giant  sarcophagus  at  the 
edge  of  the  flowery  vale.  Before  it  there  appeared  a 
narrow  entrance  to  two  or  three  grottoes  hewn  in  the 
rock,  half-choked  with  weeds  and  fallen  fragments. 

Into  one  of  these  grottoes  Francesca  glided,  but  Otto- 
rino  involuntarily  hesitated.  The  tales  he  had  heard  of 
the  extent  and  intricacy  of  these  caverns  and  their  dan- 
gerous inhabitants  recurred  to  him.  But  while  he  paused 
the  click  of  two  flints  was  audible,  and  by  the  accom- 
panying flashes  he  discerned  Francesca  on  her  knees 
blowing  some  dry  leaves  into  flame  and  kindling  a  torch. 
Ashamed  of  his  fears  and  animated  by  the  recollections 
which  came  upon  him,  Ottorino  advanced  into  the  grotto 
to  light  the  torch.  Francesca  then  rose  and  said,  with  a 
melancholy  smile: 

"  How  now  beats  your  heart?  Dare  you  follow  me?  " 
"Ay,  —  and  if  it  were  over  black  snakes,"  Ottorino 
replied ;  yet  he  hesitated  again,  for  the  torch  but  dubiously 
illumined  the  gloom  into  which  they  were  penetrating, 
and  which  seemed  to  grow  denser  and  thicker  with  every 
step  they  advanced.  The  passage  was  scarcely  wide 
enough  to  permit  the  stretching  of  the  arm,  and  was  un- 
evenly walled  with  chalk  and  sand.  Proceeding  in  silence 
and  with  rapidity,  they  soon  found  themselves  near  a 
cavernous  excavation,  from  which  radiated  three  narrow 
galleries,  one  of  which  descended  in  an  inclined  plane  to  a 


Zbc  nDiDntabt  Citation  289 

great  dq)th  below.  The  woman  spoke  scarcely  a  word, 
but  occasionally  she  raised  the  torch  as  she  advanced,  at 
times  revealing  dark  openings  where  one  gallery  was 
crossed  by  another. 

The  dense  tomblike  scent  of  the  air  began  to  exercise 
a  chilling  influence  over  the  Lombard,  and  the  frequent 
crumbling  of  sand  and  rock  on  their  way,  awakening 
dismal  and  seemingly  supernatural  sounds  in  the  remote 
echoes,  as  if  the  phantoms  protested  against  the  intrusion 
of  life,  did  not  fail  to  exert  their  spell  over  him.  Ever 
and  anon  pieces  of  sandy  rock  detached  themselves,  as 
if  some  malicious  demon  was  attempting  to  crush  the 
intruders ;  spectral  cries  multiplied  to  an  infinite  dis- 
tance until  they  died  in  faint  and  mysterious  whispers. 

The  Lombard  began  to  be  at  once  surprised  and 
alarmed  at  the  distance  which  they  had  traversed,  when 
suddenly  his  guide  paused,  turning  upon  him  with  the 
full  light  of  her  eyes  and  torch. 

"  Your  brow  is  damp,  knight,"  she  said,  almost  with 
a  tinge  of  contempt  in  her  tone.  "  If  your  heart  fail 
you,  return,  for  we  are  now  entering  the  place  of  ordeal, 
and  you  must  remain  alone  and  without  light  in  these 
solitudes  until  the  actors  in  the  dismal  pageantry  arrive." 

"  Be  the  hazard  what  it  may,  —  I  am  here  to  run  it," 
replied  the  Lombard. 

"  Let  us  on,  then !  "  said  Francesca,  continuing  her 
advance.  The  gallery  gradually  widened  until  it  branched 
off  on  each  side  of  an  arch  hewn  in  the  rock.  The  arch 
opened  into  a  cavern,  a  huge  chaotic  chamber,  with 
immeasurable  galleries  opening  into  a  common  centre. 
The  white  sand  on  the  ground  seemed  to  have  been 
strewn  for  ghosts  to  glide  noiselessly  over. 

"  It  is  a  fearful  theatre,  fit  to  stage  a  more  fearful 
drama,"  said  Francesca,  exhibiting  the  interior  of  the 


290  Gastel  del  /Donte 

cavern  as  far  as  her  torch  could  illumine  its  vast  recesses ; 
then  she  continued,  in  an  undertone : 

"  If  legends  lie  not,  more  murdered  and  mangled  vic- 
tims have  found  here  their  sepulchre  than  we  would  dare 
to  surmise.  Hither  come  sorcerers  and  witches  to  dese- 
crate the  silence  with  their  black  sabbat,  and  hither  will 
the  duke  come,  a  spirit  even  as  dark.  But  to  see  all 
unseen,  —  have  you  the  courage  to  hide  yourself  in  yon- 
der niche  over  the  arched  entrance,  whence  your  retreat, 
when  the  dark  hour  has  passed,  will  be  easy  and  as- 
sured?" 

"  Is  it  a  sepulchre  ?  "  asked  the  Lombard,  with  a  shud- 
der. 

"  What  if  it  be  ?  "  returned  Francesca.  "  What  can 
we  fear  in  death  that  we  have  not  suffered  in  life  ?  But 
Time  shall  not  weary  you  much  with  his  company  until 
I  return.  Yonder  passage  leads  by  a  few  windings  to  the 
chapel,  where  the  duke  and  his  sorcerers  are  to  meet,  and 
they  wait  but  a  preconcerted  signal  from  me." 

"  Time  ?  "  said  Ottorino,  still  hesitating.  "  Wherefore 
should  he  enter  this  abode  of  the  dead  ?  " 

"  To  bid  them  be  patient." 

"  This  immense  silence  perchance  answers  the  ques- 
tion," said  the  Lombard,  after  a  pause,  for  even  his 
courage  faltered  at  the  thought  of  remaining  alone  in 
these  fearful  solitudes.  But  the  violence  of  his  feelings 
revived  his  determination,  yet  again  the  apprehension  of 
treachery  rushed  so  forcibly  into  his  mind  that  he  paused 
and  turned  to  Francesca  with  a  look  so  expressive  of  his 
suspicions  that  she  understood  him  without  words. 

"Betray  you  —  and  wherefore?"  she  exclaimed,  im- 
patiently. "You  will  hold  light  the  oath  of  one  of  my 
kind;  yet,  may  this  whole  mountain  fall  over  and  crush 
me  through  all  eternity  if  I  wish  you  aught  but  good." 


JIM  asit>niQht  Cttatfon  ^9^ 

This  last  dreadful  imprecation  silenced  Ottorino's 
scruples,  and  he  entered  the  niche  from  which  he  was  to 
watch  the  fearful  proceedings. 

It  had  apparently  been  excavated  at  a  remote  period, 
but  if  it  had  ever  served  any  other  purpose,  nothing  re- 
mained but  the  darkness  of  the  sepulchre.  The  Lom- 
bard entered  backward,  for  it  would  have  been  difficult 
to  turn  in  so  narrow  a  space.  He  retreated  some  dis- 
tance from  the  entrance,  until  Francesca  was  satisfied 
that  it  was  not  possible  to  discover  him  from  the  floor 
of  the  cavern.  Then  waving  her  hand  in  farewell,  with 
an  expression  of  triumph  kindling  in  her  eyes,  she 
hastened  from  the  cavern  by  one  of  the  galleries  on  the 
opposite  side.  Ottorino  bent  forward  and  watched  the 
last  glimmer  of  light  disappear.  It  was  succeeded  by 
utter  darkness  and  a  silence  as  unbroken  as  if  sound 
were  annihilated. 

Abandoned  thus  to  his  meditations,  the  Lombard's 
thoughts  returned  to  muse  with  such  anguish  on  the 
events  transacting  above  ground,  that  for  some  time  he 
even  forgot  his  present  situation  and  peril.  Here,  in  the 
solitude  of  darkness  and  death,  he  was  bound  to  confess 
to  himself  that  he  loved  Helena  di  Miraval  dearer  than 
life.  The  rumour,  if  based  on  truth,  that  the  duke  was 
his  rival,  explained  much  that  had  been  dark  to  him. 
But  it  threw  no  light  on  her  strange  impassiveness,  be- 
hind which  might  lurk  the  purpose  to  cast  off  the  toy 
after  it  had  satisfied  her  vanity.  On  the  other  hand,  it 
accounted  for  the  duke's  watchfulness,  which  made  ap- 
proach to  her  presence  well-nigh  impossible ;  it  accounted 
for  his  unanswered  messages  and  her  strange  demeanour, 
so  full  of  contradictions.  But  the  poison  which  the 
Dominican  had  instilled   into  him   still   rankled  in   his 


999  Castel  Del  /R>onte 

veins,  and,  while  he  hovered  between  fear  and  hope,  his 
anxiety  grew  more  terrible  every  moment. 

Suddenly  a  light  gleamed  down  a  gallery,  voices  were 
echoed  in  whispers  down  the  walls,  some  time  ere  the 
speakers  appeared.  And  when  they  did  enter,  their  aspect 
was  not  calculated  to  dispel  the  sinister  gloom  of  the 
solitudes  which  they  disturbed. 

The  foremost  was  a  person  enveloped  in  a  long  black 
mantle,  wearing  a  mask  with  a  plumed  hat  slouched  over 
it.  Another  followed  who  was  garbed  like  a  Spanish  man- 
at-arms,  his  visage  shaded  by  the  long  tattered  hair 
which  hung  from  under  his  morion.  A  third  came,  hold- 
ing a  torch  and  apparently  directing  the  advance  of  the 
first  two  by  the  light.  He  was  an  aged  man,  to  judge 
by  his  stoop  and  his  dragging  gait,  but  he  was  too  com- 
pletely enveloped  in  the  garb  of  a  black  penitent  to  be 
more  closely  scrutinized.  He  leaned  upon  a  long  black 
wand,  curiously  inlaid  with  figures  and  stars,  and  carried 
over  his  shoulders  a  scarlet  sack,  which  probably  con- 
tained some  of  the  implements  of  his  art. 

"  Methinks  this  ancient  air  is  wondrous  musty,  Dom 
Alamo,  yet  it  should  be  dry  and  warm,  since  we  must 
have  descended  almost  as  deep  as  hell,"  said  the  fore- 
most, whose  tone  of  mock  gaiety  revealed  him  to  be  the 
Duke  of  Altamura.  "  How  much  deeper  must  we  plunge 
ere  the  fiends  are  near  enough  to  hear  our  evocations  ?  " 

"  Signor,  this  place  will  serve  the  purpose  if  we  can 
make  the  circle  wide  enough,"  replied  the  necromancer. 
"  But  I  must  have  assistance,  and  I  will  summon  two 
wise  sisters  of  the  art;  we  are  ever  willing  to  do  each 
other  turns  of  aid  and  kindness." 

Slightly  withdrawing  from  his  companions,  Dom 
Alamo  drew  a  sharp,  blue  gleaming  knife  from  his 
bundle,  pricked  himself  in  the  arm,  and  advanced  toward 


XTbe  /lDt&ntobt  Citation  ±^$ 

a  remote  gallery  in  front,  sprinkling  little  drops  of  his 
blood  as  he  went,  and  uttering  some  strange  words  with 
great  rapidity  in  a  raised  tone,  as  if  calling  to  some  one  at 
a  distance.  Numerous  discordant  and  gibbering  echoes 
answered,  and  suddenly  there  was  heard  a  violent  whirr 
of  wind;  after  a  pause,  during  which  it  increased,  two 
haggard  old  women  apparently  blew  down  the  gallery 
and  entered,  with  their  robes  heaped  about  them,  shriek- 
ing, "  We  come  —  we  come !  " 

"  Leave  mumbling  to  your  saints,  Crivello,  or  per- 
chance you  will  mar  our  spell,"  said  the  duke,  impa- 
tiently. "  Look,  man,  they  are  your  old  friends,  the 
witches." 

The  sorceresses,  greeting  the  duke  with  a  fantastic 
bend,  pointed  their  skinny  fingers  at  the  trembling  cas- 
tellan, and  mewed  and  laughed  in  concord. 

"  The  devil  may  not  affright  you,  old  hags,  being  your 
daily  and  nightly  company,"  said  the  Catalan,  angrily. 
"  But  if  I  had  my  way,  you  would  not  laugh  so  loud  after 
the  recent  prank  of  your  mad  offspring." 

"  Peace,  fool !  The  reverend  mothers  were  in  the  same 
kettle  with  us,  but  the  thrice-damned  Lombard  may  live 
to  rue  the  day  when  he  turned  protector  of  harlots," 
exclaimed  the  duke,  fiercely.  "  And  now,  most  potent 
magician,  since  thy  weird  helpmates  are  here,  —  why  dost 
thou  pause  and  stare  at  me  ?  " 

"  Signor,  —  I  would  clearly  understand  your  will, 
which  as  yet  was  but  a  doubtful  hint,"  replied  the  wizard. 

"  Thou  hast  the  power  to  raise  the  dead,  for  hast  thou 
not  shown  me  Charlemagne  in  thy  magic  mirror  ?  "  said 
the  duke,  after  an  unusual  pause  of  hesitation.  "  But  now 
I  would  have  thee  summon  a  spirit  which  will  not  need 
so  powerful  a  spell,  for  it  is  still  restlessly  wandering  in 
the  shadowy  realms  of  eternity.    Whatever,  or  where  it 


294  Castel  ^el  /i>onte 

be,  —  I  would  learn  how  it  can  find  rest  in  the  grave, 
cease  darkening  my  sunshine  and  thwarting  my  resolves." 

"  What  spirit  wouldst  thou  have  me  summon  ?  "  re- 
plied the  necromancer.  "  Over  the  blessed  my  spells  have 
no  power,  and  some  of  the  damned  are  below  the  citation 
which  compels  the  fiends  from  hell." 

"  The  blessed,  —  nay !  I  have  nothing  to  do  with 
saints !  Make  thy  circles  and  utter  thy  spells,  and  I  will 
tell  thee  anon  whom  I  would  behold." 

The  necromancer  took  his  staff  and  made  some  mystic 
signs  at  three  points  of  the  cavern,  muttering  to  himself 
in  some  unknown  language;  he  then  threw  it  forward. 
It  stuck  quivering  in  the  sand,  and  to  the  affrighted  eyes 
of  the  gazers  for  some  instants  it  resembled  a  fiery 
serpent,  coiling  and  hissing  over  the  spot. 

The  magician  advanced,  and,  taking  his  staff  as  the 
centre,  drew  a  circle  around  it,  partly  linked,  in  which 
he  drew  another  of  greater  extent  with  a  pentacle  in  the 
midst,  and  a  third  of  similar  size  as  the  first.  He  then 
commanded  the  assistant  hags  to  trench  the  circles  by 
casting  up  the  sand  with  little  brass  shovels  which  they 
had  brought.  They  did  this,  all  the  time  pronouncing 
in  shrill  voice  some  cabalistic  words ;  then  they  set  to 
work  with  great  zeal  and  evident  expectations  of  some 
portentous  results,  exchanging  mysterious  nods  of  satis- 
faction, while  the  magician  placed  numerous  bones  and 
fragments  of  skulls  around  the  second  circle. 

"  And  now,  signor,  tell  me  if  the  spirit  we  are  to  sum- 
mon was  violently  expelled  from  its  carcass,  and,  if  so, 
when  and  where  ?  "  said  the  magician. 

"  What  matters  it  to  thee  ?  "  retorted  the  duke,  much 
agitated.    "  Why  this  question  ?  " 

"To  make  the  circle  of  a  capacity  to  withstand  the 


Ubc  Itoi^niQbt  Citation  295 

wrath  of  the  spirit,  which  else  might  tear  the  questioner 
to  pieces,  or  blast  him  with  fire  from  hell." 

"  Hell's  vassals,  then,  are  as  rebellious  as  those  of 
earthly  rulers,"  said  the  duke,  smiling  darkly.  "  A  violent 
death  —  ay !  And  so  indeed  it  was,  —  but  these  good 
dames  here  can  tell  thee  how  the  golden-haired  youth  — 
the  emperor's  son  —  ended." 

"  He  had  dishonoured  the  pure  blood  of  Moorish 
princes,  pure  since  Omar  the  Caliph,"  hissed  the  older 
of  the  sisters,  fiercely  tossing  back  her  matted  gray  hair 
as  she  glared  up  from  her  toils,  while  her  companion  also 
paused,  and,  looking  up  with  a  sardonic  smile,  said : 

"  Ah !    But  she  was  so  beautiful," 

"  But  why  slain  ?  "  asked  the  magician.  "  Thou,  my 
lord,  didst  not  strike  to  avenge  the  blood  of  the  prophet !  " 

"  He  had  to  die  some  way,"  the  duke  replied.  "  The 
brood  cannot  endure  for  ever." 

The  necromancer's  eyes  gleamed  fearfully  through  the 
holes  of  his  black  hood,  and  he  resumed  his  labours, 
muttering : 

"  We  must  weave  the  spell  thrice,  for  the  injured  have 
a  power  of  which  their  assailants  dream  not." 

Not  a  word  of  this  strange  converse  had  escaped  the 
ears  of  the  Lombard,  who  remained  in  his  hiding-place 
motionless  as  a  statue. 

While  the  hags  delved  a  second  trench  around  the 
circle,  the  necromancer  placed  a  low  tripod  in  the  first. 
Upon  this  he  set  a  brass  kettle,  then  kindled  a  fire  beneath 
it,  and  from  the  herbs  which  the  witches  had  brought,  and 
many  others  in  his  own  sack,  selected  the  materials  for 
a  fumigation. 

The  duke  continued  for  some  time  apparently  engaged 
in  scanning  his  sepulchral  surroundings. 

"  Thy  ghosts  are  like  women,  Dom  Alamo,"  he  at  last 


296  Castel  t)el  /iDonte 

said,  with  wild  levity.  "  They  will  not  come  when  asked, 
and  when  not  wanted  they  are  with  you." 

"  I  have  not  yet  uttered  my  spell,  but  the  time  is  at 
hand.  Sisters,  sit  in  the  first  circle  and  repeat  the  name 
I  pronounce  —  but  wherefore  trembles  the  soldier  ?  Only 
to  his  murderer  the  spirit  will  appear." 

"We  all  had  a  share  in  the  work  —  let  us  all  behold 
it !  I  hate  the  Christian  still !  "  said  one  of  the  Moorish 
hags. 

"  Why,  —  and  so  do  I !  I  hate  him  and  I  fear  him  not ; 
let  him  come,  —  let  him  come  !  I  slew  him,  by  the  eternal 
God,  and  I  do  not  quiver  in  a  nerve,"  exclaimed  the  duke, 
in  a  frenzy. 

"  Beware,  then,  that  thou  hast  uttered  no  prayer,  else 
we  are  all  at  the  mercy  of  the  fiends,"  said  the  magician, 
gazing  at  the  pallid  castellan  of  the  Torre  del  Diavolo, 
whose  teeth  chattered  audibly. 

"  Enter  the  circle  if  thou  wouldst  be  safe,  and  fear 
not  until  thine  hour  has  come !  Duke,  thy  station  is 
within  the  pentacle  of  the  second  circle !  "    . 

Crivello  mechanically  obeyed  the  directions  of  the 
sorcerer,  while  the  duke  boldly  advanced  and,  leaping  into 
the  pentacle,  stood  with  folded  arms  in  a  resolved  or, 
perhaps,  skeptical  attitude.  The  sage  then  returned  to 
the  foremost  circle,  which  he  occupied  alone.  He  knelt 
and  took  a  curious  volume  of  Oriental  manuscript,  illu- 
minated with  magic  figures  and  signs,  from  his  breast, 
then,  taking  the  only  torch  which  they  had  brought,  he 
thrust  it  into  the  sand  and  extinguished  it.  The  little  light 
which  remained  was  furnished  by  the  livid  flames  which 
burned  under  the  magician's  copper  vessel,  and  from 
which  Ottorino  perceived  a  thick,  dark  smoke  arising, 
full  of  strange  fumes.  Filled  with  horror  and  fascina- 
tion, he  anticipated  the  apparition  of  an  inhabitant  of  the 


Ube  flDi&ntabt  Citation  297 

vast  unknown.  But  despite  the  horror  which  the  duke's 
crimes  excited,  there  was  something  almost  sublime  in 
the  fixed  and  unquailing  courage  with  which  he  seemed 
to  await  the  issue  of  the  terrific  experiment. 

"  Let  it  take  some  form,  —  any  but  that  of  darkness, 
and  I  will  not  fear  it." 

"  Silence  —  silence  !  "  the  magician  commanded,  an- 
grily. "  The  sisters  give  not  the  proper  responses,  for 
they  hear  not  my  words,"  and  he  continued  to  read  from 
his  book  in  a  language  unknown  to  all  save  himself  and 
the  hags. 

And  soon  strange  rumblings  were  heard  in  the  cavern- 
ous depths  below,  as  of  thunder  rolling  through  remote 
galleries  and  approaching  nearer  and  nearer.  Fiery  hier- 
oglyphics ran  along  the  sandy  earth  and  the  sepulchral 
walls  of  the  cavern.  The  necromancer  calmly  read  on, 
without  raising  his  eyes,  and  the  witches  continued  their 
chant  in  mingled  terror  and  enthusiasm,  until  it  rose  like 
the  shrieks  of  the  damned  over  the  thunder  of  judgment. 
Suddenly  the  brazier  began  to  sparkle  and  to  hiss,  and 
seemed  to  bubble  over  with  coloured  serpents  and  lurid 
flames.  A  deadly  mephitic  odour  filled  the  cavern,  which 
produced  a  strange  and  swooning  languor  on  Ottorino, 
although  he  was  removed  from  its  immediate  action.  The 
feeling  was  brief,  but  it  left  a  kind  of  dreamy  intoxica- 
tion of  the  senses,  so  that,  when  raising  his  eyes  from 
the  group,  he  saw  what  seemed  to  be  legions  of  hideous 
spectres  and  demons  of  the  most  grotesque  and  horrible 
forms  crowding  into  the  cavern  and  flitting  up  and  down 
the  walls. 

"  It  is  in  vain,  —  they  spurn  my  offerings,"  muttered 
the  magician,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Surely  we  lack  some  potent  ingredient,"  replied  one 
of  the  witches. 


29^  Castel  Del  /iDonte 

"  More  mandragora !  Hark,  —  how  it  shrieks,"  said 
the  necromancer,  hurriedly.  "  The  sweat  of  a  murderer's 
right  hand  in  the  flames!  If  these  are  spirits,  we  have 
more  powerful  spells  to  evoke  them !  Speak,  duke !  Re- 
mind them  of  all  thy  direst  deeds  of  midnight,  by  which 
thou  hast  merited  their  support  and  favour.  Speak,  —  or 
I  have  no  longer  power  to  detain  them  or  to  compel  sub- 
mission." 

"  By  the  evil  passions  that  consume  my  soul,  by  the 
spouse  of  Christ  whom  I  raped  from  his  altars,  by  the 
dying  curses  of  the  victims  of  the  blackest  midnight,  — 
by  the  blood  of  Enrico,"  exclaimed  the  duke,  and,  observ- 
ing that  the  spectral  hosts  gradually  waned  away,  he 
added,  more  frantically: 

"  Hear  me,  demons,  spirits,  or  whatever  you  are !  By 
the  damning  calumnies  I  have  uttered  against  ye,  let  the 
spirit  I  demand  appear  before  me ! " 

A  moment  of  profound  and  awful  silence  followed,  and 
then  a  universal  shriek  arose  from  all  the  gazers  save 
alone  the  duke,  who  stood  fixed  and  immobile  as  a  figure 
carved  in  ebony,  for  a  pale  and  ghastly  blue  light  gleamed 
down  the  gallery  on  the  opposite  wall  of  the  cavern,  and 
in  it  appeared  a  darkness  whose  presence  froze  the  very 
life-blood  in  the  beholder's  veins.  And  yet  there  was  no 
precise  outline  of  form  or  features,  —  vague  hues  of 
armour,  a  mantle  and  rich  surcoat  stained  with  gore  and 
the  green  ooze  of  corruption,  some  ghastly  indistinctness 
of  a  visage  and  waving  plumes,  was  all  that  was  dis- 
cernible. 

"  Demon  or  angel,  —  whatever  thou  art,"  gasped  the 
duke,  at  length,  when  the  necromancer  glared  as  if  petri- 
fied at  the  horror  he  had  himself  evoked,  and  Crivello 
sank  senseless  in  the  sand.  "  Yea,  —  it  is  he,  it  is  he, 
—  even  as  we  left  him !     Enrico,  Enrico  —  speak !  "  he 


Ube  /lMC>niQbt  Cttatton  ^99 

cried,  in  the  tones  of  a  madman.  "  Speak,  or  must  my 
soul  burst  in  its  silence?  Speak!  If  for  some  dark 
crime  thy  soul  cannot  find  rest,  is  it  thy  hell  to  make 
mine?  Speak!  What  penance,  what  prayers  can  win 
thee  rest  and  peace  ?  " 

There  was  a  deep,  sepulchral  hush. 

"  Ferrando,"  replied  a  low,  unearthly  voice,  which 
seemed  to  penetrate  from  the  depths  of  the  grave. 

"  I  am  here !  "  shrieked  the  duke,  in  a  frenzy. 

"  Cast  off  thy  robes  of  pomp,  —  renounce  thy  dream  of 
empire,  —  resume  the  priestly  habit  thou  hast  abandoned 
for  the  vanities  of  earth,  —  wear  out  thy  days  in  penance 
and  prayers  and  forswear  thy  incestuous  love,  —  refute 
the  hideous  calumnies  thy  villainy  has  spread  to  obscure 
a  pure  and  innocent  name,  —  and  Heaven  may  yet  have 
mercy !  " 

"  Never  —  never  —  never !  Arch-fiend,  thou  but  as- 
sumest  this  shape  to  torture  me ! "  raved  the  duke. 
"  When  I  am  lord  of  Italy,  bid  me  redeem  the  holy 
sepulchre  from  the  hands  of  the  infidels,  bid  me  endow 
sanctuaries  for  thine  unpeacefully  parted  soul  —  nay,  do 
thy  worst !  Destroy  me  if  thou  canst ;  I  defy  thee !  Yea, 
—  I  will  torture  thee,  too!  When  the  crown  of  the 
Western  empire  sits  on  my  brow,  when  Helena,  she  whom 
I  love  with  a  passion  ravishing  and  boundless,  —  when 
Helena  sits  enthroned,  my  empress,  beside  me  in  the 
splendour  of  her  unrivalled  beauty,  which  thou  hast  cov- 
eted, when  all  the  earth  shouts,  I  care  not  whether  in 
love  or  fear,  —  then  come,  then !  " 

But  even  as  he  concluded  the  speech  with  frantic  de- 
fiance and  exultation,  the  apparition  disappeared,  while 
a  long,  despairing  wail  resounded  through  the  cavernous 
depths  like  a  farewell  cry  to  hope. 

The  dead,  red  light  in  the  brazier  now  reappeared. 


300  Castel  &el  ffbontc 

which  the  supernatural  glare  had  darkened,  and  Ottorino, 
almost  bereft  of  his  senses  from  the  effect  of  the  terror, 
felt  that  a  long  silence  ensued. 

"  Light !  Light !  "  thundered  the  duke.  "  Didst  thou 
hear,  Dom  Alamo,  what  the  devil  said?  Light,  I  tell 
thee  — light!" 

"  My  spell  could  never  raise  that  spirit,"  the  nec- 
romancer said,  gasping.  "  Save  thy  soul  from  the  burn- 
ing grasp  that  is  upon  it,  —  repent !  For  thou  hast  seen 
a  spirit,  whether  sent  by  heaven  or  hell  I  know  not  which, 

—  but  a  spirit." 

"  I  am  beholden  to  thee  for  thy  good  advice,  Dom 
Alamo,"  shrieked  the  duke,  with  a  wild  laugh.    "  Repent, 

—  recant,  —  turn  monk  and  mumbler  of  masses,  —  hast 
thou  forgotten  the  phantom  thou  hast  conjured  up  in  days 
gone  by,  the  phantom  which  has  haunted  my  waking 
hours  and  dreams?" 

"  I  have  not,"  gasped  the  magician. 

"  Then  thou  art  answered !  Yet,  once  more  let  me  tax 
the  powers  of  thy  mighty  art!  Command  the  spirits  to 
show  me  the  likeness  of  him  Helena  loves,  —  or  shall 
love,  —  that  in  obeying  their  behest  the  midnight  steel 
may  not  mistake  the  bridegroom." 

"  It  is  in  vain ;  —  the  fiends  are  weary  and  will  no 
longer  obey  my  spell ! "  said  the  necromancer,  drawing 
himself  up  slowly  and  gazing  around  with  convulsive 
shudders. 

"  I  say  they  will,  —  they  shall !    Pronounce  thy  words 

—  I  will  echo  thee,"  returned  the  duke,  with  mad  velocity. 
"  Ask,  if  it  be  the  Lombard,  —  but  no,  no !  It  may  not 
be." 

"Urge  me  not  to  the  task!  I  tell  thee,  the  fiends  are 
weary!  The  reluctant  spirits  will  but  obey  to  words 
that  will  shake  the  very  mountain  above  us." 


Uhc  Ifbi^nlQht  Citation  3«« 

"  Shake  the  whole  universe  if  thou  wilt,  but  let  my 
soul  be  satisfied,"  ejaculated  the  duke. 

"  Back  to  thy  pentacle,  or  the  fiends  will  seize  the  in- 
stant to  tear  thy  heart  out,"  cried  the  magician,  as  the 
duke  strode  eagerly  forward.  "  I  will  ■  do  what  I  may, 
but  they  will  not  listen  to  me." 

The  duke  obeyed,  wiping  with  both  hands  the  cold 
perspiration  from  his  brow,  and  the  necromancer  re- 
sumed his  spell,  but  with  seeming  feebleness  and  reluc- 
tance. The  duke's  agonizing  anxiety  was  now  amply 
shared  by  Ottorino.  In  his  eagerness  he  forgot  every 
restraint  of  prudence,  and  stepped  altogether  out  of  his 
concealment.  It  is  true  that  the  cavern  was  in  almost 
complete  darkness,  for  the  brazier  threw  only  a  narrow 
circular  light  around  its  tripod,  revealing  the  bending 
figure  of  the  sorcerer,  and  touching  the  edges  of  the 
duke's  garments  and  the  tips  of  his  plume  with  fiery  red. 

But  most  unluckily  and  suddenly  a  bright  light  shot 
up  from  the  brazier,  casting  a  strong  reflection  on  the 
mailed  figure  of  the  knight.  The  Moorish  hags,  who  had 
turned  their  heads  in  terror  from  the  spectral  presence, 
beheld  him  and  uttered  a  simultaneous  shriek.  The  duke 
and  the  necromancer  both  turned  around  and  clearly 
discerned  him  for  an  instant  ere  he  precipitately  re- 
treated. Ottorino  remembered  afterward  that  the  duke 
nodded  to  him  in  sarcastic  recognition,  while  the  necro- 
mancer, uttering  a  groan  of  exquisite  anguish,  sank  to 
earth. 

An  instant's  intent  listening  convinced  Ottorino  that 
no  suspicion  of  his  bodily  presence  had  crossed  the  fear- 
struck  imagination  of  the  spectators.  The  duke  stepped 
from  his  pentacle  into  the  magician's  circle,  and  raised 
the  necromancer  with  an  exclamation  which  sounded 
more  like  contempt  than  pity.     Then  he  burst  into  a 


302  Castel  &el  /iDonte 

frantic  peal  of  laughter,  which  rang  far  and  near  through 
the  galleries,  kicked  over  the  brazier  and,  extinguishing 
the  last  gleam  of  light,  precipitately  strode  ahead  of  the 
whole  evil  company  which  trooped  off  in  his  train. 

It  was  not  until  the  last  echo  of  their  footsteps  had 
died  away  and  silence  had  for  some  time  succeeded  that 
Ottorino  recovered  from  the  overwhelming  confusion  of 
his  thoughts  and  remembered  his  own  situation.  Helena 
innocent  of  all  the  direful  crimes  imputed  to  her,  —  for 
a  moment  every  atom  of  his  soul  was  absorbed  in  the 
thrice-blessed  conviction.  The  memory  of  their  meeting 
at  Favara  almost  overwhelmed  him,  and  even  the  fearful 
certainty  of  the  personality  of  his  powerful  rival  had  no 
terrors  for  him  at  this  moment.  For  a  brief  space  of 
time  he  laboured  to  persuade  himself  that  all  he  had  seen 
and  heard  was  a  dream,  —  a  dream  the  wild,  incongruous 
and  horrible  events  which  he  had  witnessed  in  so  rapid 
a  phantasmagoria.  Then  without  awaiting  Francesca's 
guiding  hand  he  rushed  from  his  concealment,  but  his 
progress  was  slow  and  perilous,  and  too  late  he  repented 
of  his  daring  impulse.  In  the  midnight  gloom,  which 
in  the  absence  of  any  light  now  filled  the  cavern,  he 
could  only  proceed  by  carefully  testing  the  ground  with 
hand  and  foot,  and  after  he  had  tediously  groped  his 
way  through  the  darkness,  filled  with  stagnant  air  and 
noisome  vapours,  he  perceived  in  the  extreme  distance  the 
faint  glimmer  of  a  light,  and  almost  simultaneously  he 
heard  the  barking  of  a  dog. 

Continuing  his  advance  in  the  direction  which  promised 
the  nearest  outlet,  he  soon  found  himself  at  a  jagged 
opening,  not  the  one  through  which  he  had  entered. 
Several  groups  of  men  were  sleeping  around  a  fire,  while 
the  dog,  finding  his  efforts  to  arouse  them  useless,  stood 
growling  and  glaring  at  the  intruder. 


Ubc  /■^t^niQbt  Citation  303 

Ottorino  was  about  to  call  for  assistance,  when  one  of 
the  sleepers  raised  his  head  and  exclaimed  in  the  fierce 
tones  of  the  bandit  chief  of  Calabria : 

"  Down,  beast  —  down !  The  curse  of  St.  Anthony  be 
upon  thee." 

The  Visconti  became  at  once  aware  that  he  had  little 
favour  to  expect  from  the  hands  of  this  ruffian  and  his 
subordinates,  some  of  whom  were  garbed  as  soldiers  and 
peasants,  and  among  whom  were  two  or  three  deformed 
beggars,  whom  he  remembered  to  have  seen  crawling 
about  the  streets  and  the  steps  of  churches. 

Nearly  all  these  fellows  were  armed  to  the  teeth  with 
crossbows  and  daggers.  Bucklers  of  steel  and  of  bull's 
hide,  which  served  as  pillows,  and  fragments  of  roasted 
kid,  egg-shells  and  chestnuts,  together  with  several  goat- 
skins of  wine,  attested  the  fact  that  they  had  not  neglected 
their  personal  comfort.  Ottorino  endeavoured  to  persuade 
himself  to  patience,  and,  knowing  how  difficult  it  would 
be  to  pass  to  the  entrance  beyond  the  bandits'  camp,  he 
laboured  to  compose  the  direful  agitation  of  his  blood 
and  spirits ;  but  recollection  came  upon  recollection,  and 
the  events  of  the  last  few  hours,  into  which  seemed 
crowded  the  thoughts  and  sufferings  of  years,  rushed 
back  upon  him. 

Deliberating  upon  the  best  plan  of  escaping  the  dog 
and  the  ruffians,  his  reverie  was  suddenly  interrupted  by 
voices  below.  The  chief  of  the  bandits  had  risen  from 
his  rough  bed  and  was  apparently  commenting  on  the 
strange  demeanour  of  the  dog. 

"  I  shall  not  take  Cerbero  with  me,  for  some  colony  of 
rats  might  scent  us  in  our  absence." 

This  was  said  to  the  bravo  who  occupied  the  straw  next 
to  him,  and,  far  from  being  asleep,  was  sharpening  a 
stiletto  on  his  leather  sandals.    One  by  one  the  bravi  rose, 


304  Castel  t)el  /IDonte 

almost  a  hundred  in  number.  Adjusting  their  masks,  they 
left  the  cavern,  one  treading  in  the  footsteps  of  another. 
At  last  no  one  remained  but  the  dog.  He  had  made 
several  ineffectual  attempts  to  follow  his  brutal  master, 
who  had  spurned  him  back,  finally  kicking  him  severely, 
to  make  him  understand  his  pleasure.  The  animal  at  last 
submitted,  and  stood  gazing  long  and  wistfully  after  his 
master,  as  he  went  up  a  steep  path  with  the  bandits  and 
disappeared  behind  a  ledge  of  rock.  The  creature  then 
began  dejectedly  to  lick  its  flanks,  occasionally  pricking 
its  ears,  as  if  it  still  heard  the  distant  footsteps. 

In  order  not  to  attract  the  bravi  by  the  barking  of 
the  dog,  Ottorino  waited  until  he  reckoned  that  there  was 
a  sujfificient  distance  between  himself  and  the  bandits, 
whose  presence  in  the  capital  of  the  kingdom  on  the  eve 
of  the  coronation  was  another  mystery  which  baffled  his 
understanding.  Then,  drawing  his  dagger,  he  fearlessly 
entered  the  cavern.  His  first  movement  startled  the  dog, 
and  when  it  laid  eyes  on  the  intruder  it  gave  a  wild  yell 
and  sprang  at  Ottorino  so  fiercely  that  without  weapon 
he  would  have  been  lost.  But  at  the  next  moment  the 
dog  without  a  single  howl  or  struggle  fell  to  the  ground, 
the  weapon  buried  in  its  throat. 

Through  an  entrance  so  completely  choked  with  briars 
and  bushes  that  only  those  familiar  with  the  haunt  per- 
ceived a  way  into  it  by  crawling  beneath  the  matted 
foliage,  Ottorino  gained  the  valley,  just  as  the  moon  was 
going  down  behind  the  western  hillsides.  His  heart  was 
drunk  with  joy,  and  yet  filled  with  even  greater  perturba- 
tion than  before.  For  much  remained  dark  to  him  that 
must  be  cleared  up.  But,  first  and  foremost,  —  how  was 
he  to  find  audience  with  Helena? 

After  having  reached  his  apartments  at  Khalesa,  as 
Ottorino  was  unfastening  his  doublet,  a  scroll,  carefully 


Ube  /iDi^niabt  Citation  30s 

tied  and  sealed,  fell  out.  It  had  been  placed  under  his 
belt  with  such  care  that  only  when  the  latter  was  entirely 
removed  did  its  presence  reveal  itself.  With  trembling 
fingers  he  broke  the  seal,  staring  in  incredulous  bewilder- 
ment at  the  message  it  contained : 

"  Thy  fate  awaits  thee  at  Favara,  when  the  lamp  of 
love  burns  in  the  skies." 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


AMOR   VICTOR 


Never  were  reflections  more  involved  and  perplexed 
than  those  with  which  Ottorino  reviewed  the  circum- 
stances of  the  extraordinary  scene  which  he  had  wit- 
nessed. While  the  sum  of  his  discoveries  pointed  to  the 
duke  alone,  the  recollection  of  Helena's  fascination 
worked  so  powerfully  in  the  soul  of  the  Visconti  that 
brighter  hopes  began  to  spread  their  light  over  the  dark 
shadows  of  the  past.  At  times  Ottorino  felt  like  crying 
out  for  joy,  —  at  the  next  moment  gloom  and  despair 
settled  over  him  with  the  thought  of  Enrico's  mysterious 
doom  and  the  beautiful  rival  of  the  Moorish  girl.  Then 
the  whirlwind  of  his  thoughts  rushed  into  other  channels. 
The  duke  in  his  frenzy  had  revealed  himself  the  author 
of  the  dismal  tragedy ;  but  his  forced  confession  shed 
no  light  on  his  motives  for  a  deed  which,  however  in 
accord  with  his  dire  temper,  pointed  to  the  presence  of 
a  favoured  and  formidable  rival.  Despairingly  Ottorino 
lost  himself  in  the  intricate  labyrinth  of  intangible  sur- 
mises, but  as  evening  drew  nigh  fear  diminished  and 
hope  rose  in  proportion. 

It  was  verging  into  sunset  when  the  Visconti  found 
himself  traversing  the  narrow  vale  of  the  Oreto  on  his 
way  toward  the  groves  of  Favara.  It  needed  even  now 
all  his  resolution  not  to  succumb  to  the  influences  of 

306 


Hmor  IDictor  307 

conflicting  thoughts  and  emotions.  The  rising  moon 
and  the  languid  sweetness  of  the  hour  joined  in 
conspiracy  against  the  too  susceptible  Lombard.  The 
musical  murmur  of  distant  fountains,  mingled  with  the 
notes  of  innumerable  nightingales,  the  dreamy  brightness 
of  the  moonlight,  the  soft,  mysterious  whisperings  of  the 
leaves  in  the  gentle  air,  touched  subtle  chords  of  love 
and  longing  in  his  soul.  But  even  with  these  warring 
impulses  at  work,  his  regret,  his  love,  his  anguish,  and 
his  wrath  seemed  to  grow  with  every  pace  more  wildly 
intense,  until  in  the  supervening  agony  he  could  without 
hesitation  have  yielded  himself  to  any  doom,  however 
terrible,  which  would  relieve  his  soul  of  the  doubts  which 
ate  into  it  with  poisoned  fangs.  Black  thoughts  were 
vaguely  whirling  in  his  disordered  fancy,  when  he  heard 
a  slight  rustling  in  the  leaves  by  his  side.  Turning,  a 
deadly  pallor  overspread  his  features  as  his  eyes  met  those 
of  Helena  di  Miraval.  He  had  expected  to  behold  her 
flushed  in  the  triumph  of  her  beauty,  arrayed  to  dazzle 
and  to  subdue,  but  he  had  not  armed  himself  against 
the  simplicity  of  her  black  gown,  totally  unornamented, 
rendering  more  distinct  the  marble  pallor  of  her  beautiful 
face,  which  slowly  tinted  with  faint  rose-coloured  hues, 
when  she  felt  his  gaze  burning  upon  her.  Her  voice 
trembled  with  some  consciousness,  when,  interrupting 
with  a  gesture  at  once  dignified  and  agitated  his  con- 
fused and  strangely  humble  salutation,  she  commanded 
the  matron  in  the  black  habit  of  the  cloister  who  had  ac- 
companied her  to  retire.  Ottorino's  gaze  reverted  in  a 
tumult  of  passions  from  this  personage,  who  revived 
memories  of  his  former  tryst  and  deception,  to  Helena; 
but  he  found  that  she  was  only  intent  on  watching  her 
companion  disappear  behind  the  Moorish  kiosk. 

"  My  duenna  will  await  me  yonder,"  the  lady  of  Mira- 


3od  Castel  C>el  /iDonte 

val  then  said,  not  without  a  slight  significance  in  her 
tone  and  not  without  confusion,  "to  prevent  any  alarm 
or  surprise,  —  but  pray,  signor,  be  seated." 

She  pointed  to  one  of  the  marble  benches  interspersed 
at  close  intervals  throughout  the  rose-thicket,  taking  her 
seat  rather  with  the  manner  of  a  queen  about  to  hear  a 
suppliant  than  that  of  a  woman  supposed  to  have  granted 
an  interview  to  her  lover.  Ottorino,  recovering  from  his 
first  embarrassment,  thanked  the  lady  with  a  slight  bend 
of  the  head,  but  preserved  his  station,  though  at  a  lesser 
distance. 

There  were  several  moments  of  utter  and  most  em- 
barrassing silence,  and,  but  that  his  disbelieving,  jealous 
heart  suggested  other  causes,  Ottorino  could  not  but 
have  been  moved  with  the  expression  of  melancholy  and 
subdued  agitation  which  her  whole  attitude  revealed.  As 
it  was,  he  dared  not  trust  his  voice  to  speak,  and  it  was 
Helena  di  Miraval  whose  tremulous  siren  tones  broke  the 
silence. 

"  Signor,"  she  said,  pausing  after  the  first  word  with 
visible  embarrassment,  and  then  resuming  with  firmness 
and  hauteur,  "  if  I  have  requested  this  singular  audience, 
it  is  because  I  would  repay  the  gift  of  life  bestowed  on 
me  by  you,  by  requesting  the  acceptance  on  your  part 
of  the  means  of  immediate  flight  which  I  have  prepared." 

Deeply  touched  as  Ottorino  was  by  this  seemingly 
generous  concern  for  his  safety,  the  jealous  suggestions 
which  his  fancy  instantly  mingled  supported  him  in  the 
carrying  out  of  the  part  he  had  planned  to  enact. 

"  Even  the  fallen  angels  were  not  expelled  from  paradise 
so  suddenly,  lady,  and  such  your  presence  makes  Palermo 
and  these  leafy  bowers,  fraught  with  memories  too  dear 
to  be  forgotten,"  he  replied,  in  a  low,  wooing  tone,  in- 
describably sweet  to  the  senses  of  his  listener.    "  Neither 


Hmor  IDictor  309 

were  they  condemned  unheard,  —  and  by  whom  am  I 
accused,  to  merit  punishment  as  severe  as  this  ?  " 

"  Condemned  unheard,"  Helena  repHed,  slowly ;  "  truly 
our  sex  has  been  wrongfully  chidden  with  want  of  con- 
sistency. But  let  it  pass.  You  had  a  friend,  —  you  cast 
her  from  you,  —  are  you  not  therein  answered  ?  " 

"  It  may  have  been  my  mishap  not  to  understand  her, 
to  offend  her,  —  but  —  who  was  at  fault  ?  "  replied  Otto- 
rino,  fixing  his  burning  gaze  upon  the  woman  before  him. 

"  You  admit,  then,  signor,  —  it  was  a  fault  ?  " 

"  Again  I  request  an  accusation." 

"  Does  not  your  memory  accuse  you  ?  "  asked  Helena, 
with  a  touch  of  deep  indignation. 

"  My  memory  is  only  my  own  enemy,  not  yours,"  Otto- 
rino  replied,  falteringly. 

She  shook  her  head,  while  with  her  words  she  gradually 
lashed  herself  into  the  fire  of  anger. 

"  Your  memory !  Your  memory !  It  is  like  the  rip- 
pling wave  that  is  swallowed  by  the  next,  —  it  is  like  the 
idle  wind  that  dies  at  sunset,  —  if  I  were  the  woman  you 
accuse  me  to  be,  how  dare  you  trust  yourself  in  my 
presence  ?  " 

"  Because  on  my  lips  still  lingers  the  ravening  fire 
wh'ch  Helena  di  Miraval  left  there  in  that  never-to-be- 
forgotten  night  of  the  past.  How  could  I  fear  that  I  was 
mortal,  surviving  the  rapture  of  that  moment  ?  "  Ottorino 
said,  in  tones  which  vibrated  through  the  innermost 
depths  of  her  soul,  though  shame  and  anger  sparkled  in 
her  expression  as  she  replied : 

"  Your  flattery  sounds  like  fear !  You  grievously  mis- 
doubted your  mortality  when  you  accused  the  nun  who 
attended  your  wounds  of  attempting  your  life  with  poison ! 
Oh,  Madonna  —  your  life !  And  yet  with  all  these  proofs, 
—  but  it  matters  not!    To  the  purpose,  then!    Fly  and 


3IO  Castcl  t>tl  /iDonte 

save  yourself  from  the  duke's  anger,  for  it  is  deadly ! " 
she  concluded,  shuddering. 

"  Why  should  I  dread  your  kinsman's  anger  ?  Why 
should  I  fly?  Why  should  I  not  rather  follow  the  dic- 
tates of  my  heart  and  claim  you  as  my  own  before  the 
whole  world,  you,  the  only  woman  I  have  ever  loved; 
you,  the  one  I  have  never  ceased  to  worship  ?  " 

"  That  I  will  answer  you,"  returned  Helena,  with 
vivacity.  "  The  pride  of  the  Visconti  is  reported  great, 
and  you  would  not  expose  it  to  the  mortification  of  a 
refusal,  which  by  the  most  blessed  Virgin  awaits  you  if 
after  this  warning  you  dare  to  utter  it." 

Ottorino's  first  surprise  was  followed  by  an  influx  of 
jealous  suspicion. 

"  Surely,"  he  said,  with  rising  vehemence,  "  it  is  for 
me  to  recall  memory  rather  than  for  you.  It  must  be 
some  greater  alliance  fostered  by  policy  or  ambition  that 
prompts  your  speech,  for  my  questionings  and  doubts, 
daily  provoked  and  yet  unallayed,  cannot  have  moved  you 
to  this  anger.  Fool  that  I  was,"  he  added,  in  a  voice 
full  of  anguish  and  bitterness,  "  that  I  dreamed  for  a 
moment  to  be  loved  by  Helena  di  Miraval ! " 

"  Then  you  did  believe  —  once  ?  " 

"  I  loved  you." 

"  You  loved  me,"  she  repeated,  as  from  the  depths  of 
a  dream.  "  Love  trusts,  —  love  believes,  —  love  gives 
love  in  return.  You  loved  me,  —  perhaps  with  the  in- 
toxication of  the  moment,  with  the  feeling  of  gratified 
vanity  that  it  was  Helena  di  Miraval  who  trusted  her 
heart  to  your  keeping,  that  it  was  the  proudest  woman 
in  the  realm  who  had  spoken  words  of  love  to  Ottorino 
Visconti.  Yes,  —  I  loved  you,  too,  but  with  a  love  dif- 
ferent from  yours;  I  did  not  doubt  you,  —  even  though 
it  pleased  you  to  create  a  pageant  of  your  own  in  the 


amor  IDtctor  3" 

company  of  a  Moorish  wanton,  —  even  though  you  were 
stirring  up  the  foul  corruption  of  the  marshes  in  quest  of 
proof  of  Helena  di  Miraval's  guilt !  I  loved  you,  —  once, 
—  then !    It  is  all  over  now." 

A  deadly  pallor  overspread  Ottorino's  features,  and 
staggering  as  if  he  had  received  a  blow  from  an  unseen 
foe,  he  grasped  his  forehead  with  both  hands. 

"  Pageant  —  Moorish  wanton,"  he  stammered,  "  which 
one  of  us  is  mad?  Hath  some  fiend  whispered  this 
calumny  into  the  ears  of  all  Palermo  ?  " 

A  disdainful  gesture  was  Helena  di  Miraval's  sole  reply, 
as  if  the  subterfuge  was  too  threadbare  to  require  verbal 
refutation,  but  this  pretended  or  actual  unbelief  on  her 
part  drove  the  Visconti  to  a  frenzy  in  which  he  no  longer 
measured  his  speech. 

"  And  it  is  you  who  chide  me  with  a  deed  whose  dark 
import  a  future  hour  will  reveal  to  you !  "  he  wildly  ex- 
claimed. "  You,  who  bid  me  come  to  the  convent  of 
Santa  Lucia  but  to  feast  your  eyes  on  my  dismay  when, 
leaving  the  confessional,  you  passed  me  as  one  who  had 
no  claim  on  Helena  di  Miraval's  heart !  You  upbraid  my 
lack  of  faith,  you,  who  lured  me  to  the  grottoes  of  Pros- 
erpina but  to  witness  the  triumph  of  a  rival !  " 

"  Triumph  —  confessional  —  rival  ?  "  stammered  the 
lady  of  Miraval,  scrutinizing  Ottorino  as  if  she  feared 
that  he  had  been  struck  with  madness.  "  Surely  this 
is  some  cheat  of  the  fiend,  else  —  " 

He  uttered  a  wild  laugh,  having  worked  himself  up 
into  a  frenzy  that  made  him  utterly  oblivious  of  his 
own  resolves,  but  his  mirth  of  despair  died  down  with 
almost  equal  suddenness  when  he  remarked  the  look  of 
blank  dismay  with  which  Helena  di  Miraval  regarded 
him. 

"  I  have  lived  a  prisoner  in  the  duke's  palace,"  she 


3"  Castel  &el  /IDonte 

said,  in  low  and  tremulous  accents,  "  surrounded  by  spies 
and  the  dark  agents  of  his  intrigues.  I  never  go  to  the 
convent,  for  my  confessor  comes  to  me.  At  the  hour 
appointed  my  duenna  awaited  you  at  the  cloister,  —  in 
vain,  —  and  as  for  the  apparition  in  the  grotto,  —  I  swear 
to  you  by  all  that  can  draw  destruction  on  a  broken  vow 
that  it  was  another  of  my  sex,  the  same  one  who,  as  the 
Fata  Morgana  of  the  Carnival,  mocked  your  faith  to 
clouds  and  vapours !  Oh,  had  you  but  heeded  my  warn- 
ings !  Believe  me,  Helena  di  Miraval  makes  not  light  of 
love,  and  where  she  gives  her  heart  there  it  remains  for 
ever.  Oh,  had  you  but  heeded  my  words,  had  you  but 
trusted  me!  —  even  against  the  testimony  of  the  whole 
world!  Such  a  love  would  have  been  love  indeed,  and 
against  such  love  and  such  faith  the  intrigues  of  all  the 
fiends  had  been  in  vain." 

In  speechless  amazement  Ottorino  stared  at  the  woman 
before  him.  Her  words  carried  such  conviction  that  he 
could  not  question  her  sincerity;  at  the  same  time  his 
dark  suspicions  of  the  duke's  plotting  and  authorship  of 
his  miseries  changed  into  certainties.  There  remained  little 
doubt  in  his  mind  that  the  veiled  apparition  at  the  con- 
vent of  Santa  Lucia  had  with  a  purpose  attracted  him 
to  herself,  and  as  for  the  scene  in  the  grottoes  of  Pros- 
erpina, doubt  in  the  reality  of  his  vision  had  time  and 
again  flashed  through  his  mind,  when  his  passion-inflamed 
brain  had  permitted  saner  thought  to  usurp  frenzied 
suspicion. 

At  last  he  spoke,  his  gaze  fixed  upon  the  ground. 

"  Love  trusts,  —  it  oftener  fears !  What  manner  of 
man  was  I  to  think  that  I  could  compel  the  love  of 
Helena  di  Miraval  ?  " 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  raising  his  eyes  to  her  face, 
as  if  to  read  its  inmost  thoughts.     Her  gaze  was  fixed 


Bmor  IDlctor  313 

on  the  dark,  velvety  greensward,  as  if  she  dared  not  trust 
herself,  while  with  hands  convulsively  clasped  she  lis- 
tened to  his  words. 

"  But,"  Ottorino  continued,  after  a  pause,  encouraged 
by  her  very  passiveness,  "  if  her  words  are  true,  if  Helena 
di  Miraval's  heart  ever  remains  where  she  has  given  it, 
if  love  indeed  exchanges  love  and  sells  not  its  wares, — 
then  love  me  with  all  the  passion  of  your  sex,  as  I  love 
you  with  the  love  of  mine !  "  And,  sinking  in  a  delirium 
of  passion  at  her  feet,  he  stammered,  "  My  Helena,  — 
perfection  of  all  divinity  in  woman,  you  whom  from  the 
first  moment  I  have  never  ceased  to  worship,  —  I  love 
you  dearer  than  my  life,  and  when  I  thought  you  had 
attempted  it,  I  loved  you  more  than  ever ! " 

And,  snatching  her  hands,  he  covered  them  with  burn- 
ing kisses,  while  in  vain  she  struggled  to  tear  them 
away  from  him,  her  countenance  bearing  mingled  traces 
of  tenderness  and  indignation,  which  suddenly  melted 
away  in  a  shower  of  tears. 

"  Leave  me,  —  leave  me,"  she  faltered,  "  fly,  —  save 
yourself !  " 

Vehemently  as  this  outburst  smote  the  conscience  and 
heart  of  Ottorino,  the  very  beauty  of  her  confusion  and 
tenderness  roused  his  jealousy,  his  love,  his  regrets,  in 
a  furious  whirlwind  of  passion,  which  threatened  to 
sweep  away  the  last  restraint. 

"  Fly  —  fly  ?  My  veins  flow  fire,  and  the  divine  spell 
of  your  beauty  has  fettered  my  soul,"  he  uttered,  with 
frenzied  fervour.  "  I  love  you,  Helena,  I  love  you  as  never 
woman  was  loved  before !  But  speak !  speak !  —  lest  I 
think  you  are  making  mirth  and  mockery  of  my  madness." 

"  No,  Ottorino,  no !  Leave  me !  I  swear  to  you  by 
an  oath,  to  break  which  is  perdition,  that  I  loved  but 

/ 


3X4  Castel  t)el  /iDonte 

once,  —  and  you !  "  faltered  Helena,  her  fair  face  droop- 
ing like  a  rose  too  heavily  laden  with  dew. 

"  Nay,  then,  if  you  loved  me  once,  —  if  you  loved  me, 
and  parting  as  you  bid  me  to,  for  ever,  —  I  will  return 
that  kiss,  whose  sweetness  lurks  like  madness  in  my 
blood,"  exclaimed  the  Visconti,  wildly,  while  Helena 
started  away  from  him  in  terror,  with  difficulty  eluding 
his  frantic  embrace. 

"  I  love  you  in  very  truth,  Ottorino  —  I  loved  you  since 
your  first  glance  of  lofty  pride  fell  upon  me,"  she  ex- 
claimed, finding  herself  as  instantly  entangled  in  his 
arms.  "  Forgive  me  but  this  once,  —  swear  to  me  that 
you  will  leave  me,  swear  to  me  that  you  will  give  me  back 
my  madness,  and  all  shall  be  as  if  it  had  never  been !  " 

"  Leave  you  —  now  ?  "  exclaimed  Ottorino,  flinging 
her  from  his  embrace,  to  which  she  was  unconsciously 
yielding  in  mingled  fear  and  tenderness.  "  Leave  you,  to 
find  a  fitter  successor  to  Ottorino  Visconti?  But  no,  no, 
no!  By  the  great  God  above,  who  hears  us,  and  if 
all  the  fiends  of  doom  were  arrayed  against  me,  —  you 
are  mine!  Nay,  you  shall  not  force  me  from  you,  you 
shall  listen  to  me,  as  I  take  heaven  and  earth  to  witness 
that  I  believe  you  against  the  angels." 

"  Against  the  angels  ?  "  she  replied,  with  a  sad  smile. 
"  And  what  miracle  has  brought  about  this  sudden 
change  ?  Ottorino,  I  loved  you  as  I  never  loved,  but  your 
disdain,  your  doubts,  have  eaten  into  the  very  core  of 
my  heart,  and  even  supernatural  assurance  would  be  to 
you  no  confirmation  of  my  innocence." 

"  Then  listen,  my  love !  By  some  chance  I  found  my- 
self the  victim  of  a  black  deceit,  —  an  accident  in  itself 
as  unaccountable  as  the  revelations  were  fearful." 

"  What  accident  ?  What  revelations  ?  "  she  said,  listen- 
ing intently. 


Hmor  IDtctor  31s 

In  faltering  accents  first,  then  with  increasing  elo- 
quence, Ottorino  recounted  every  occurrence  since  his 
arrival  at  Palermo;  he  dwelt  long  on  their  supposed 
meeting  at  Santa  Lucia,  and  the  scene  in  the  cavern,  the 
last  and  only  dark  point  remaining,  which  had  risen  a 
barrier  between  them  to  the  present  hour. 

"  Then  you  are  still  doubting  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  noting 
his  tone  of  hesitancy. 

"  My  last  doubts  vanished  with  the  spirits  which  the 
wizard  conjured  up  before  the  duke,  whom  they  forced 
to  disclose  the  unhallowed  mystery  of  his  crimes,  —  and 
his  love  for  you.  Though  sorcery  compelled  it,  —  though 
the  phantom  of  murdered  Enrico  rose  from  his  grave, 
rousing  his  jealous  fears,  darkness  and  the  terrific  silence 
of  death  did  the  work,  and  in  his  delirium  the  duke  con- 
fessed so  much  that  his  words  threw  a  light  into  the 
strange  secrets  which  had  long  haunted  me  with  shadows, 
like  certainties.  And  it  was  the  duke's  paramour  who 
suggested  my  presence  for  causes  even  now  unknown  to 
me,  though  something  she  spoke  of  proving  the  innocence 
of  one  over  whom  a  dark  cloud  had  long  been  hanging." 

Helena  listened  attentively.  But  as  Ottorino's  tale  pro- 
ceeded, as  the  certainty  of  the  duke's  terrible  plots 
flashed  over  her,  she  grew  quite  colourless,  and  when  he 
revealed  to  her  the  duke's  dark  insinuations  that  she  had 
lured  to  his  death  the  emperor's  son,  she  would  have 
fallen  had  not  his  arms  supported  her. 

"  And  you  believed  ?  "  she  stammered,  pale  as  death. 

"  No,  my  Helena,  no !  Banish  for  ever  from  your 
heart  this  rankling,  poisonous  thought!  The  dark  cloud 
has  disappeared.    Oh,  let  it  not  settle  over  us  again !  " 

Helena's  head  sank  on  her  bosom,  while  passively  her 
hands  remained  in  his. 

"  I  had  taught  my  soul  forbearance  in  the  impossibility 


3i6  Castel  &el  /iDonte 

of  ever  being  yours,  —  and  now,  since  you  know  there  is 
a  curse  denounced  on  all  who  love  me,  on  all  my  love 
approaches,  on  mine  own  head  and  on  yours,  if  you  will 
not  desist,  —  what  shall  I  do?  Your  life  is  not  worth 
one  apostonaro  if  you  remain  in  Palermo.  You  say  you 
have  heard  such  marvellous  things  under  Monte  Pelle- 
grino;  there  lives  one  woman  who  could  tell  you  that 
which  would  cause  you  to  turn  to  stone,  and  often  she 
wonders  at  her  own  mettle  that  suffers  her  to  endure 
in  silence." 

"  Helena,"  Ottorino  spoke,  after  a  brief  pause,  "  do  you 
love  me  ?  " 

"  Ah !  Why  do  you  ask  ?  You  know  it  but  too  well, 
Ottorino,  even  to  my  heart's  core,"  she  replied,  aban- 
doning herself  to  his  encircling  arms. 

"Then,  my  love,  I  will  remain  if  all  the  fiends  of 
darkness  rise  against  me" 

"Alas,  —  one  were  enough!  But  since  you  will  not 
heed  my  warning,  —  since  you  will  not  fly  alone,  —  let  us 
fly  together !  Only  on  the  high  seas  are  we  safe  from  the 
duke's  murderous  steel.  His  terrible  accomplice,  the 
Catalan,  tracks  all  my  steps,  and  his  demeanour  has 
wondrously  changed  of  late.  I  fear  the  worst,  for  Cri- 
vello  is  sullen  and  skulks,  an  ever  sure  symptom  that  he 
is  steeling  himself  to  some  deed  of  terror.  Take  me  with 
you,  beloved  !  Wait  not  the  coronation !  I  love  you,  — 
I  am  all  yours!  I  would  gladly  welcome  death  for  your 
sake  and  by  your  side,  —  but  to  know  your  life  im- 
perilled, and  the  nightly  terrors  my  own  dismal  prison- 
house, —  it  is  more  than  I  can  bear." 

"  Your  life  is  mine  and  mine  the  right  to  guard  it,  to 
protect  you  against  the  world.  We  will  leave  this  very 
night.  I  know  an  old  boatman  who  has  plied  many  years 
between  these  shores.    I  will  leave  orders  with  Canaletto 


amor  IDtctot  317 

and  a  message  for  the  king.  But  we  must  hasten, — 
are  you  ready  to  follow  me,  beloved  ?  " 

With  a  cry  of  anguish  Helena  glided  into  her  lover's 
arms.  Her  face  was  deadly  pale.  Their  eyes  met,  and 
their  souls  held  silent  commune.  Bright  and  clear  the 
moonlight  bathed  the  cypress-trees  bordering  the  ap- 
proach to  the  kiosk,  like  silent  wardens  of  the  past; 
orange  blossoms  and  magnolias  wafted  their  intoxicating 
odours  into  the  balmy  night  air. 

"  It  is  growing  late  and  we  require  secrecy  and  speed," 
Ottorino  at  last  broke  the  silence.  "  Your  duenna  is 
peering  from  yonder  kiosk,  and  I  fear  she  is  not  as  sleepy 
as  she  affects,  though  rubbing  her  eyes  and  yawning 
lustily.  Still,  —  she  will  have  to  become  used  to  this 
sight  sooner  or  later.  I  will  hasten  to  Khalesa,  to  ar- 
range with  Canaletto,  then  to  the  boat,  to  safety,  and  to 
freedom." 

"  I  will  meet  you  at  midnight  in  the  garb  of  a  nun 
at  the  Dominican's  hermitage,"  replied  Helena.  "  I  shall 
wear  a  mask,  for  the  duke  and  his  henchman  are  ever 
wakeful,  —  besides,  I  fear  the  boatman's  inquisitive  gaze. 
And  now  one  last  farewell  glimpse  of  heaven,  till  the 
convent  bells  of  Santa  Lucia  peal  the  hour,"  she  added, 
with  a  smile,  while  her  eyes  with  their  magic  spell  held 
those  of  Ottorino. 

Embracing  her  with  passionate  tenderness,  the  Vis- 
conti  pressed  his  lips  to  those  whose  sweetness  had  never 
ceased  to  haunt  him.  And  loving  so  passionately  and 
with  a  nature  fraught  with  the  glowing  sun  of  her  land, 
Helena  in  the  self-oblivious  abandonment  of  ecstatic  ten- 
derness wreathed  her  beautiful  arms  around  his  neck, 
meeting  the  pressure  with  equal  fervour. 

Then  with  one  last  passionate  glance  of  love  they 
parted,  eager  for  the  hour  when  the  frail  craft  would 


3i8  Castel  bel  /iDonte 

carry  them  beyond  the  reach  of  the  dread  spell  hovering 
over  their  lives. 

The  convent  bells  of  Santa  Lucia  chimed  the  midnight 
hour,  when  Ottorino,  arriving  at  the  friar's  hermitage, 
found  Helena  waiting  in  the  deep  shadows  of  the  palms 
and  sycamores.  Their  wide-spreading  branches  almost 
concealed  the  narrow  path  leading  to  the  landing  where 
the  old  boatman  lay  in  waiting.  After  an  interchange 
of  mute  greetings,  they  proceeded  on  their  way  till  the 
landing  came  in  sight,  and  with  it  a  boat,  half-hidden  in 
the  reeds.  Ottorino  whispered  constant  words  of  en- 
couragement to  his  companion,  for  her  terror  seemed  so 
great  as  to  completely  rob  her  of  the  faculty  of  speech. 
They  were  fast  approaching  the  shore,  and  Ottorino 
pointed  to  the  sea. 

"  Courage,  my  love,  —  courage !  Bright  gleams  our 
star  in  yonder  heavens,  and  the  gates  of  liberty  are  nigh !  " 

The  firm  pressure  of  the  hand  he  held  in  his  own  was 
her  only  response,  yet  his  soothing  words  hardly  allayed 
her  fears,  for  she  glanced  wistfully  around,  back  into  the 
shadows,  as,  making  their  way  through  the  reeds,  they 
approached  the  boat,  in  which  the  old  ferryman  lay  in  his 
wonted  semiconscious  trance. 

"  Ply  thine  oars,  old  man,  —  this  is  no  time  for  sleep- 
ing," Ottorino  called,  as  he  started  to  enter  the  small 
craft,  drawing  Helena  after  him.  The  boatman's  slum- 
,  bers  seemed  to  be  heavy,  for  he  stirred  not,  but  when 
Ottorino  attempted  to  rouse  him  from  his  lethargy,  his 
foot  slipped  on  a  wet,  slimy  substance.  Even  while  the 
Lombard  fell,  his  eyes  met  a  sight  which  froze  the  very 
life-blood  in  his  veins,  for  from  the  old  man's  side  pro- 
truded the  hilt  of  a  poniard,  whose  aim  had  been  but 
too  true.    Striking  the  bottom  of  the  craft,  Ottorino  felt 


Hmor  IDictor  319 

the  planks  parting  under  him,  while  the  murdered  boat- 
man fell  over  his  sinking  body.  Simultaneously  a  shrill 
whistle  resounded  along  the  beach;  from  the  tall  reeds 
rushed  a  half-dozen  or  more  bravi,  masked  and  armed 
to  the  teeth,  a  masked  horseman  in  a  long  Spanish  mantle 
urging  them  to  his  purpose  from  under  the  boughs  of  a 
wide-spreading  plane-tree,  which  but  partially  concealed 
him  from  view. 

When  Helena  beheld  her  protector  falling,  she  uttered 
a  low  outcry  of  dismay,  but  ere  she  realized  what  had  hap- 
pened she  felt  a  cover  thrown  over  her  head ;  stout  arms 
lifted  her  from  the  sinking  craft  and  bore  her  lifeless 
form  —  for  she  had  swooned  from  the  excess  of  terror  — 
through  the  softly  whispering  reeds.  The  masked  horse- 
man, after  a  parting  glance  at  the  spot  where  the  craft 
had  gone  down  with  the  old  boatman  and  Lombard,  rode 
in  silence  after  them. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  TORRE 


Another  day  had  gone  down  the  never  returning  tide 
of  time. 

While  the  Apulian  barons  were  assembled  in  the 
gloomy  palace  of  the  Duke  of  Altamura,  a  wild  tumult 
roared  and  clattered  around  the  walls  of  the  Torre  del 
Diavolo.  The  moon  had  scarcely  risen  in  the  eastern 
horizon  when  out  of  swamps  and  marshes  surrounding 
the  lone  tower,  out  of  brushwood  and  ruins,  rose  a 
shadowy  array  of  soldiery,  who  surrounded  the  duke's 
stronghold  while  the  guards,  taking  advantage  of  their 
master's  absence,  indulged  in  games  and  pastimes  of  their 
own.  Unmistakable  preparations  for  storming  the  mas- 
sive structure  were  in  progress ;  axes,  knives,  and  cata- 
pults in  the  shape  of  huge  boulders  were  placed  in  readi- 
ness under  the  sheltering  boughs  of  the  surrounding  oaks. 
The  men-at-arms  were  mailed  to  do  battle  to  the  death, 
and  seemed  to  wait  but  the  signal  of  their  leader,  a  gaunt 
giant,  who  watched  the  progress  of  the  siege  seated  upon 
his  coal-black  charger  of  pure  Norman  blood.  After  a 
brief  consultation  between  the  Duke  of  Lesina  and  two 
subordinate  leaders,  three  men-at-arms  proceeded  to  the 
gates  of  the  Torre,  and,  knocking  against  it  with  all  their 
might,  demanded  admittance.  Some  time  elapsed  ere  re- 
sponse was   made,   and   their  crashing  knocks  became 

320 


Ube  attacft  on  tbe  XTorre  32* 

louder  and  more  importunate,  when  a  voice  from  within 
demanded  to  know  the  cause  of  the  disturbance. 

The  Duke  of  Lesina  had  slowly  approached  the  moat, 
keenly  watching  every  movement  on  the  battlements,  but 
when  the  din  of  voices  from  within  was  audible,  he  could 
restrain  himself  no  longer. 

"  Hounds  and  bastards,"  he  cried,  "  it  is  I,  the  Duke 
of  Lesina,  who  bid  you  lower  the  bridge  and  open  the 
gates,  else  I  will  drive  you  out  like  rats  with  burning 
pitch  and  oil." 

There  was  no  response  to  this  demand.  The  defenders 
of  the  Torre,  being  without  a  leader,  had  withdrawn  in 
alarm  and  consternation.  The  beleaguerer's  summons 
meeting  apparently  but  with  mute  defiance,  Lesina  or- 
dered his  men-at-arms  to  the  assault.  With  fierce  shouts 
some  rushed  headlong  into  the  ditches,  while  others  pro- 
cured ladders  to  scale  the  walls.  But  by  this  time  Cri- 
vello's  Catalans  had  somewhat  recovered  from  their  first 
panic,  and  those  who  were  the  most  eager  in  the  assault 
were  crushed  beneath  huge  stones  thrown  from  the  walls 
with  prodigious  force,  while  others  fell  transfixed  with 
spears  and  arrows,  and  the  more  sober  began  to  misdoubt 
the  success  of  the  enterprise. 

The  old  Duke  of  Lesina,  brandishing  a  sword  of  tre- 
mendous length,  now  lashed  his  charger  under  the  ram- 
parts. 

"  Send  us  the  woman,  the  recreant  nun,  ere  we  tear 
down  this  pile  over  her  cursed  head !  "  thundered  the  old 
warrior  to  the  men-at-arms  in  the  defences.  "  Send  us 
the  woman,  —  we  will  listen  to  no  other  terms,  —  send 
us  the  woman !  " 

The  Catalans,  to  whom  this  speech  was  addressed, 
seemed  to  enter  into  deliberations,  aware  that  unless  word 
could  be  sent  to  the  duke  they  would  hardly  be  able  to 


322  Castel  &el  /iDonte 

hold  the  old  pile  against  the  hundreds  rushing  to  the 
assault.  But  more  than  they  feared  the  wrath  of  the  old 
leader  they  dreaded  the  fury  of  the  duke,  and  at  length 
Lesina's  summons  was  answered  with  a  volley  of  stones 
and  arrows,  the  defence  being  directed  by  a  woman 
garbed  in  black,  who  had  emerged  on  the  ramparts  just 
as  the  Catalans  were  weighing  their  cause  in  the  balance. 
An  inarticulate  outcry  of  fury  broke  from  the  lips  of 
Lesina  when  he  recognized  Francesca,  and  in  a  few 
moments  the  ladders  erected  to  scale  the  defences  hung 
thick  with  combatants,  while  under  his  immediate  super- 
vision a  ponderous  machine  was  dragged  against  the 
walls.  It  was  formed  of  four  lofty  timbers  carried  by 
a  score  of  men,  and  crossed  with  bars  so  as  to  make  four 
steep  ladders  to  the  top.  The  men-at-arms  surged  with 
great  eagerness  around  the  conveyance,  so  as  to  increase 
its  shock  when  hurled  against  the  massive  oaken  doors. 
So  fearful  was  the  impetus  and  so  tremendous  the  crash 
with  which  the  beam  struck  them,  that  it  knocked  them 
out  of  their  hinges,  causing  them  to  almost  topple  over. 

The  Duke  of  Lesina  uttered  a  triumphant  cry,  while  the 
consternation  among  the  besieged  was  so  great  that  they 
stared  without  stirring  at  the  formidable  catapult.  In 
that  moment's  pause  the  besiegers  broke  down  the  door 
and  rushed  with  a  fierce  shout  of  victory  into  the  cause- 
way opening  before  them. 

Keenly  the  old  baron's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  only 
exit  through  which  the  woman  on  whose  head  he  had 
vowed  destruction  must  come.  But  instead  of  Francesca 
an  avalanche  of  armed  men  swept  down  upon  his  r^r, 
and  a  deadly  conflict  began  to  rage  on  all  sides  amidst 
deafening  shouts,  groans,  and  triumphant  blasts. 

It  was  the  Duke  of  Altamura  who  had  appeared  upon 
the  scene. 


XTbe  Httacft  on  tbe  XTorre  323 

Secretly  warned,  he  had  quickly  rallied  an  armed  band 
around  him,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  hideous  din  of  battle 
he  was  heard  encouraging  his  soldiery  and  bearing  the 
brunt  of  the  fight  where  strife  and  conflict  raged  fiercest. 

No  sooner  had  the  old  duke  laid  eyes  upon  his  mortal 
enemy  than  he  dashed  in  person  to  the  attack.  Armed 
but  with  his  flambeau  and  unmindful  of  the  fact  in  the 
fever  heat  of  his  passions,  the  old  warrior  plunged  into 
the  thick  of  the  fray.  His  mantle  and  surcoat  were  torn 
away  by  Catalan  spears,  yet  he  forced  his  way  to  the 
very  spot  where  Altamura  waited  his  onrush.  Simul- 
taneously a  phalanx  of  pikemen,  descending  from  the 
opposite  direction,  came  with  full  force  upon  the  assail- 
ants. Lesina's  contingents  were  swept  back,  the  old 
leader  brandishing  his  sword  in  frenzied  rage  and  urg- 
ing his  men  to  break  through  the  barriers  and  to  capture 
the  outcast  of  his  house. 

The  Catalans  on  the  ramparts  caught  fresh  courage 
when  they  beheld  the  forces  which  Altamura  brought  up 
to  the  rescue,  while  Lesina's  attacking  ranks  surged  in 
wild  confusion  around  their  leader.  Suddenly  a  bright 
blaze  arose,  and  a  torrent  of  flaming  pitch  rushed  from 
the  battlements  upon  the  heads  of  the  assailants.  Bathed 
in  liquid  flames,  a  part  of  the  combatants  rushed  pell-mell 
into  the  ditches,  and  many  were  suffocated  by  the  weight 
of  their  own  armour.  But  Lesina's  main  chivalry  rallied 
and  met  the  double  shock  of  Altamura's  Catalans  with 
undaunted  courage,  while  a  terrific  hand-to-hand  conflict 
ensued  around  the  entrance.  Suddenly  Altamura,  turn- 
ing deadly  pale,  turned  to  Crivello,  who  rode  by  his  side. 
"  Hist,  Crivello !  Who  is  it  that  shields  the  old  robber  ? 
Look  —  he  averts  all  strokes  of  men's  swords." 

"  I  see  no  one  but  Lesina,"  Crivello  replied,  glancing 
in  the  direction  indicated. 


324  Castel  ^cl  /IBonte 

"  Fool !  Think  you  these  eyes  play  me  false  ?  I  note 
him  well  enough  with  his  dark  crest,"  returned  the  duke, 
fiercely.  "  The  dark  one,  —  now  he  pushes  open  the 
gate,  —  nothing  of  earthly  strength  might  do  it." 

"  My  lord,  —  there  are  a  score  or  more  raising  the 
timber  to  hurl  it  over,  —  they  know  not  that  it  falls  on 
its  carriage  either  way,"  said  the  Catalan,  but  the  words 
died  on  his  lips.  For  a  moment  the  mighty  timbers 
quivered  in  the  air,  equally  poised,  then  they  struck  the 
heavy  gates  with  such  force  that  when  they  fell  every- 
thing before  them  was  crushed  into  a  horrid  mass  of 
blood  and  steel. 

A  terrible  shout  of  triumph  went  up  as  the  last  im- 
pediment fell.  Like  a  mad  torrent  which  has  broken  over 
its  embankments,  Lesina's  soldiery  swept  into  the  Torre 
del  Diavolo,  killing  and  mangling  everything  in  their 
path.  Another  body  threw  themselves  with  renewed 
vigour  upon  the  duke's  Catalans,  whom  the  breaking 
down  of  the  heavy  iron-bound  doors  had  for  the  moment 
almost  unnerved.  The  rescuing  party  were  unable  to 
hurry  to  the  assistance  of  the  defenders,  whom  they  soon 
beheld  in  a  fierce  hand-to-hand  encounter  on  the  ram- 
parts, which  resulted  in  their  succumbing  to  the  con- 
stantly increasing  forces  of  their  assailants.  Lesina  him- 
self, surrounded  by  a  choice  body  of  men,  was  again 
guarding  the  only  exit  from  the  Torre,  and,  turning  once 
or  twice  to  direct  the  assault,  he  met  the  glare  of  Alta- 
mura's  eyes,  which  were  like  those  of  a  frenzied  animal. 

At  this  moment  a  large  wicker  basket  was  raised  on 
the  ramparts,  and  when  it  was  heaved  over  the  walls 
six  gory  heads  were  hurled,  as  if  with  the  force  of  a 
catapult,  at  the  feet  of  Altamura's  horse,  which  shied 
and  reared  upon  its  haunches,  but  with  difficulty  con- 
trolled by  the  duke's  iron  grip. 


Ube  Httacfi  on  tbe  XTotre  s»^ 

"  Dost  thou  miss  any  of  them,  most  illustrious  assassin, 
traitor,  and  seducer?  Or  seekest  thou  among  them  for 
the  beardless  cheek  of  thy  paramour  ?  "  shouted  Lesina, 
with  a  fearful  laugh.  "  Bide  but  a  few  moments,  and 
I  will  send  it  to  thee  on  the  point  of  a  spear,  thanking 
thee  for  this  noble  chance  to  wipe  the  stain  from  our 
name  in  her  degenerate  blood." 

"  Even  as  thou  wilt,"  returned  Altamura,  with  a  shrug. 
"  Do  thy  worst  against  the  wanton,  thy  kinswoman  — 
I  defy  thee !  " 

"  Dog  and  ravisher,"  roared  the  old  baron,  "  I  will 
tear  this  doting  paramour  of  thine  from  her  sanctuary 
and  burn  this  cursed  pile  over  her  head  as  a  funeral 
pyre." 

"  Sanctuary  ?  "  Altamura  exclaimed,  with  a  wild  laugh 
of  derision.  "  There  is  a  chapel  within  the  Torre,  but 
to  prove  thy  lies  and  false  accusations  I  withdraw  there- 
from all  privileges,  and  shall  devote  its  shrines  to  the 
rudest  wrath  of  my  soldiery.  Ho,  my  men,  forward! 
Spare  none,  slay  all !  " 

But  while  shaking  his  clenched  fists  at  his  enemy,  Alta- 
mura was  nevertheless  forced  to  retreat,  for  a  veritable 
rain  of  fire  and  burning  pitch  was  hurled  against  him 
from  the  ramparts,  the  intruders  making  use  of  his  own 
materials  of  defence. 

"  We  shall  soon  clear  the  air  of  thy  pestilential  pres- 
ence," shouted  Lesina,  snatching  a  string  of  flaming 
tow  covered  with  pitch,  and  hurling  it  at  the  duke  across 
the  heads  of  his  own  men.  With  a  fierce  shout  his 
soldiery  dashed  to  the  attack.  And  now  Lesina  swept 
everything  before  him ;  nothing  could  withstand  the  fury 
of  his  onslaught.  The  Catalans  were  driven  into  the 
Torre,  and  the  narrow  causeways,  the  winding  stairs,  and 
dark  corridors  were  strewn  with  heaps  of  the  dead  and 


326  Castcl  &el  /iDonte 

dying.  Blood  began  to  flow  in  streams  when  the  old 
baron  reached  a  massive  oaken  door,  around  which  a 
fierce  hand-to-hand  conflict  began  to  rage.  After  an  obsti- 
nate resistance  the  defenders  were  overcome,  and  the  door, 
giving  way  under  the  pressure,  revealed  when  it  broke 
down  an  oval,  tomblike  recess,  in  which  cowered  the  form 
of  a  woman  wrapped  in  a  dark  mantle,  her  hands  clasped, 
her  head  bent  forward,  her  eyes  glaring  madly  upon  the 
intruder,  who  was  shouting  some  command  to  his  men- 
at-arms,  which  these,  heartless  and  cruel  as  they  were, 
hesitated  to  execute.  Lesina  pointed  to  the  crouching 
form  of  the  hapless  girl. 

"  On  with  you !  "  he  shouted.  "  Drag  her  out  of  her 
hole,  or  I  will  brain  him  who  refuses  on  this  very  spot." 

The  pikemen  stood  irresolute;  there  was  something 
in  the  mad  beauty  of  the  woman  before  them  that  wielded 
its  influence  even  over  their  stony  hearts. 

"  My  lord,  —  remember  it  is  your  brother's  blood 
which  you  would  shed,"  remonstrated  one  of  the  younger 
leaders,  pushing  forward  to  the  side  of  Lesina. 

" 'Tis  false  —  'tis  false!"  roared  the  old  lion,  with 
frantic  fury.  "  I  will  burn  her  for  the  wanton  and  false 
nun  that  she  has  been  adjudged;  the  name  of  Lesina 
she  has  defiled !  " 

Francesca's  eyes  rested  on  the  youthful  knight  who 
had  taken  her  part. 

"  Nay,  signor,  plead  not  for  me,  but  least  of  all  because 
of  my  father's  blood,  lest  it  boil  and  burst  in  my  veins ! " 
she  said,  with  the  calmness  of  despair.  "  I  ask  no  mercy, 
none  of  thee,  brother  of  Guido  Lesina,  —  a  heavier  curse 
rests  on  thee  for  violating  sanctuary." 

"  Sanctuary ! "  returned  the  old  baron,  with  a  wild 
laugh  of  scorn.  "  Ha,  by  our  Lady,  —  thou  speakest 
well!     For  even  he,  thy  seducer,  declared  to  me  within 


Ube  Httacft  on  tbe  XTorrc  337 

hearing  of  these  that  he  would  raise  the  sanctity  of  the 
spot,  just  to  show  how  much  he  cared  for  thee,  his 
paramour." 

At  these  words  the  woman  started  up  and  turned 
to  the  speaker  with  such  a  glance  of  incredulity  and 
horror  that  even  Lesina  was  struck  with  it. 

"  Hast  thou  come  hither  to  lie  without  a  blush,  like  the 
basest  churl  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Does  not  death,  where- 
with thou  menacest  me,  appease  thy  vengeance?  Hack 
me  to  pieces  rather  than  speak  these  words!  But  they 
are  false  —  false,  and  thou  art  damned  even  below  my 
station  for  calumniating  humanity  more  blackly  than  the 
fiends  on  the  day  of  doom !  " 

With  a  terrible  oath  Lesina  reiterated  the  statement, 
but  instead  of  impressing  the  unhappy  woman  with  its 
truth,  it  roused  a  passion  more  terrible  within  her  than 
even  the  immediate  presence  of  the  most  direful  death 
had  excited. 

"  You  lie  —  you  lie !  "  she  shrieked.  "  Give  me  but  an 
hour  in  which  to  warn  him,  and  if  he  tear  not  down 
these  very  walls  to  rescue  me  hell  is  as  true  as  he  were 
false!" 

"  Seize  her,  ye  dastardly  dogs,  seize  her,  cowards ! 
Are  you  afraid  of  a  woman  ?  "  shouted  Lesina. 

"  Let  not  my  lord  be  beguiled  into  a  rash  deed  by 
your  mortal  foe,  who  perchance  is  tired  of  her  and  would 
have  you  remove  a  scandal  from  his  path,"  pleaded  Leo 
del  Valle,  the  young  leader  who  had  once  before  es- 
poused Francesca's  cause,  "  lest  regret  may  come  when 
it  is  too  late." 

Lesina  himself  looked  staggered  at  this  argfument,  but 
it  aroused  such  unbridled  and  furious  wrath  in  her  whom 
the  words  meant  to  serve  that  she  sprang  up  from  her 


338  Castel  Oel  /©onte 

crouching-  position,  standing  before  the  young  chieftain 
like  the  flaming  angel  of  vengeance. 

"  Again  and  again — you  lie !  Oh,  that  I  were  but  a  man, 
to  fight  with  you  to  the  death !  "  she  cried  aloud,  in  her 
mastering  agony.  "  No,  you  are  not  a  man,  but  a  demon, 
who  has  dreamed  this  on  some  burning  pillow  of  anguish, 
and  whose  hell  it  is  to  make  others  share  it." 

Even  as  Francesca  concluded  this  invective,  sudden 
as  the  bursting  of  a  white  squall  at  sea  there  arose  an 
uproar  outside  which  rang  far  and  deep  through  the  re- 
cesses of  the  Torre.  Shrieks,  yells,  and  the  rush  of 
unnumbered  feet  mingled  with  distant  shouts,  while  blasts 
of  trumpets  resounded  above  the  deafening  din.  Even 
Lesina  seemed  puzzled,  for  he  made  an  irresolute  gesture 
to  seize  Francesca  with  his  own  hands,  but  Leo  del  Valle 
caught  him  by  the  arm,  and,  suddenly  darting  from  the 
shrine,  Francesca  ran  up  the  steps  of  the  altar,  shrieking 
till  the  very  vaults  rang  with  the  echo : 

"  Rescue  —  rescue !    He  comes  —  he  comes !  " 

Even  Lesina  paled  as  yells  from  without  returned  a 
fearful  chorus  to  the  shout,  "  Altamura !    Altamura !  " 

Maddened  with  wrath,  the  old  baron  turned  as  the  rush 
and  roar,  shrieks  and  yells,  swept  like  a  hurricane  through 
the  ponderous  portals.  It  was  the  Duke  of  Altamura 
who  was  leading  the  havoc,  appearing  high  above  the 
heads  of  his  men-at-arms  and  shouting  with  a  voice  that 
pealed  like  the  doom  of  judgment  into  the  ears  of  those 
within,  "  No  quarter !    No  sanctuary !  " 

And  behind  him  a  mass  of  spearmen  rolled  in  with 
the  cry,  "  Kill  —  kill !  "  surrounding  Lesina  and  his  men 
with  their  superior  numbers. 

Francesca  stood  at  the  altar  grasping  a  massive  orna- 
ment of  gold,  her  eyes  and  nostrils  dilated,  her  black  hair 
dishevelled,  and,  distinguishing  the  voice  of  the  man  for 


Ube  attacft  on  tbe  XTorre  329 

whom  she  had  given  up  all  that  is  dear  and  sacred  to 
woman,  she  made  the  sanctuary  ring  with  the  delirious 
shriek : 

"  Rescue  —  rescue !  I  am  here,  Ferrando !  I  am 
here!" 

"  Forward,  my  men  —  forward !  Slay  all,  spare  none, 
man  or  woman !  "  the  duke  was  heard  to  yell.  "  Death 
to  all,  —  spare  none !  " 

Francesca  heard  not  these  words  because  of  the  frantic 
cries  with  which  she  endeavoured  to  attract,  as  she  im- 
agined, the  assistance  of  him  upon  whom  she  had  every 
claim  on  earth. 

The  knightly  spirit  in  Leo  del  Valle,  upon  hearing  this 
murderous  order  and  seeing  his  chief  surrounded,  was 
aroused  to  the  highest  pitch,  and,  while  doubtful  about 
his  own  safety,  he  was  determined  to  protect  the  woman 
at  every  hazard.  He  rushed  back  to  the  altar,  but  as  he 
approached  Francesca  raised  one  of  the  massive  pieces 
of  plate  and  shrieked  aloud  that  she  would  hurl  it  at  him 
if  he  advanced  one  step. 

"  I  will  but  protect  you,  else  you  are  lost !  "  replied 
the  young  leader.  "  I  heard  the  duke  command  even  now 
to  slay  you  for  a  witch  who  had  intercourse  with  evil 
spirits." 

"  You  lie  —  you  lie !  Ferrando  has  hazarded  all  to 
save  me,  —  I  am  saved !  "  she  shrieked,  wildly.  "  Help, 
Ferrando,  help  —  save  your  Francesca !  " 

Almost  as  she  uttered  these  words  a  horseman  crashed 
with  a  terrific  din  into  the  centre  of  the  sanctuary,  flour- 
ishing his  falchion  in  the  midst  of  the  cataract  of  wild 
soldiery.  Some  of  these  were  mangled  beneath  the  re- 
lentless hoofs,  while  others,  ere  being  overridden,  yelled 
for  mercy  or  grappled  with  the  steed  as  their  slayer 
hacked  them  down. 


330  Castel  Del  /iDonte 

The  horseman  halted,  and  Francesca,  recognizing  him, 
attempted  to  rush  down  from  the  altar,  crying  in  frantic 

joy: 

"  Ferrando  —  Ferrando  —  save  me !  I  am  here  —  I  am 
here!" 

"  What  woman  is  this  who  speaks  to  us  as  familiarly 
as  to  her  dog?"  the  duke  turned  to  Crivello.  "Cas- 
tellan, do  you  know  her  ?  " 

"  Horror  and  anguish !  Have  this  night's  terrors 
changed  me  so,  Ferrando,  —  do  you  not  know  me  ?  "  cried 
Francesca,  with  an  agony  in  her  shrieking  tones  which 
pierced  all  the  uproar  of  human  anguish  around. 

"  Yea,  —  forsooth,  —  thou  art  my  wife,  wanton,  —  art 
thou  not?  The  castellan's  wife  of  the  Torre  del  Diavolo, 
speak !  "  hissed  Crivello,  lashing  himself  into  the  fury  nec- 
essary to  stifle  even  the  last  compunction  of  his  conscience. 
Then,  raising  his  bloody  axe,  he  spurred  his  own  horse 
so  furiously  that  it  actually  darted  up  the  steps  of  the 
altar,  but  he  reached  it  not  sufficiently  near  his  victim  to 
execute  his  murderous  design,  for  at  that  very  moment 
a  knight  in  dark  armour  stepped  out  from  behind  a  pillar 
and  dashed  his  shield  with  such  force  on  the  charger's 
head  that  the  latter,  overturning,  hurled  the  castellan 
backward  on  the  pavement  below,  where  he  lay  dazed 
and  motionless. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  king  I  command  cessation  of 
strife  and  bloodshed,"  he  exclaimed,  in  tones  loud  and 
clear,  "  and  two  thousand  Saracens  wait  but  my  signal  to 
enforce  the  royal  command !  " 

The  duke  started  as  if  stung  by  a  serpent. 

"  Ah,  —  it  is  thou,  knight  of  the  Viper,"  he  said,  with 
a  glance  of  mortal  hatred.  "  Bide  but  till  we  chastise 
those  insolents  —  in  Altamura's  domains  Altamura  is 
master ! 


"'I    DEMAND    THIS    WOMAN,    DUKE    OF    ALTAMURA  !  ' " 


r 


Ube  Httacft  on  tbe  Uorrc  331 

Ere  the  Visconti  could  reply  a  din  of  voices  arose,  above 
which  was  heard  that  of  Leo  del  Valle,  who  had  so  far 
miraculously  escaped  the  clutches  of  Altamura's  men-at- 
arms,  crying,  "  Sanctuary !  Sanctuary !  Rescue  the 
lady !  " 

This  cry  suspended  for  a  moment  the  horrible  destruc- 
tion which  raged  on  all  sides,  and  which  had  already 
covered  the  shrines  with  blood  and  brains  and  the  pave- 
ment with  mangled  carcasses. 

Ottorino  now  stepped  forward  with  drawn  sword,  and, 
pointing  to  Francesca,  who  gazed  horror-stricken  at  her 
would-be  deliverer,  he  spoke  with  icy  calmness: 

"  I  demand  this  woman,  Duke  of  Altamura !  " 

"  What  ?  This  woman  ?  "  exclaimed  the  duke,  laughing 
with  mingled  fury  and  derision  until  the  very  roof  re- 
echoed his  frenzied  merriment. 

"  I  demand  this  woman !  Thou  hast  avowed  that  she 
is  nothing  to  thee,  and  hast  subjected  her  to  the  infamous 
insults  of  yonder  caitiff,  —  I  demand  this  woman,  and, 
by  the  Almighty  God,  I  mean  to  make  good  my  demand !  " 

"  Take  me  from  his  clutches,  Ferrando,  —  take  me 
from  his  clutches !  "  shrieked  Francesca.  "  What  means 
this,  —  what  means  this  ?  " 

"What  it  means,  thou  guileless  bride  of  Christ?" 
roared  the  duke,  whose  eyes  glowed  like  living  coals 
behind  the  ghastly  pallor  of  his  cheeks.  "  What  it  means? 
We  owe  thy  gallant  deliverer  a  woman  in  exchange  for 
an  angel,  who  forsook  him  at  the  very  gates  of  paradise, 
and  he  has  chosen  thee  to  console  him,  —  thee !  " 

Without  heeding  the  duke's  speech  Ottorino  turned 
to  Francesca. 

"  By  all  the  saints,  lady,  as  you  know  me  for  a  man 
of  honour,  trust  and  follow  me!  I  mean  but  for  your 
life  and  honour,  —  pray  do  not  resist !  " 


332  Castel  &el  /iDonte 

But  these  words  only  increased  the  woman's  fear,  and 
she  gazed  with  such  an  expression  of  abject  terror  at 
the  duke  that  no  words  seemed  sufficiently  strong  to  ex- 
press it ;  then  she  flung  herself  distractedly  on  her  knees, 
almost  directly  under  the  hoofs  of  his  rearing  steed. 

"  In  very  truth,  fair  lady,  this  fancy  for  us  comes  some- 
what sudden,"  the  duke  laughed  direfully,  "but — if  you 
fear,  here  is  my  dagger,"  and  he  mockingly  extended  the 
hilt  of  a  sharp  and  bloody  weapon  to  his  kneeling  suppli- 
cant. She  clutched  it,  darting  up  and  holding  it  high 
over  her  head,  shrieking,  while  she  watched  his  eye  like 
a  tigress  expecting  the  spring  of  a  panther: 

"  Speak  but  the  word,  thou  fathomless  traitor !  Never 
until  now  have  I  warned  thee  that  thy  wizard  predicted 
some  day  thou  shouldst  owe  thy  life  to  me,  —  speak! 
Shall  I  strike  this  steel  into  my  heart  —  for  thine  is 
harder  than  adamant !  " 

"  She  raves,  Crivello,  take  her  away,  —  remove  her  to 
the  castle ! "  ordered  the  duke,  not  without  a  trace  of 
anxiety  in  his  tones. 

"  Touch  her  but  with  the  remotest  tip  of  thy  finger  and 
I  will  for  once  debase  this  good  steel  in  ridding  humanity 
of  thy  murderous  presence ! "  said  Ottorino,  as  the 
Catalan  staggered  giddily  forward.  "  None  but  myself 
will  be  her  escort,  and  see  thou,  Sidi  Yussuff,  that  the 
orders  of  the  king  are  obeyed  !  " 

These  words  he  addressed  to  the  turbaned  leader  be- 
hind him,  who  kissed  his  sabre,  while  the  duke  yielded 
without  further  remonstrance.  Half-unconscious,  Fran- 
cesca  suffered  the  Lombard  to  lead  her  away,  keeping  her 
head  turned  and  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  duke  in  a  stupor  of 
speechless  despair  until  she  was  out  of  sight. 

"  Lead  forth  the  old  robber  and  truce-breaker,"  the  duke 
now  shouted,  with  unbridled  fury,  turning  with  a  gesture 


Ube  Httacft  on  tbe  XTorre  333 

of  livid  wrath  in  the  direction  whence  he  supposed  Lesina 
to  have  witnessed  the  foregoing  scene,  but  when  his  com- 
mand met  with  no  response  he  repeated  it  in  louder  and 
sterner  tones.  There  was  some  commotion,  as  of  parties 
searching  for  one  to  appear  in  a  large  crowd,  and  at  last 
Crivello,  who  had  hoped  to  cool  his  vengeance  for  the 
injuries  he  had  suffered,  staggered  toward  the  duke. 

"  He  is  not  to  be  found,  my  lord,  —  he  must  have 
escaped  during  the  struggle  for  the  wanton." 

Hardly  had  the  word  died  on  his  lips  when  the  duke 
dealt  the  castellan  such  a  terrific  blow  in  the  face  that  the 
latter  fell  his  entire  length  on  the  blood-begrimed  stones. 
"  Cur  of  a  Catalan !  Dare  breathe  again  thy  vileness  upon 
her  name  and  I  will  have  thee  impaled  over  a  slow  fire ! 
Up !  "  he  continued,  approaching  the  prostrate  form,  and 
kicking  him  as  one  would  a  dog.  "  Up !  Thou  hast  been 
so  wondrously  brave  against  a  woman,  —  up  in  pursuit 
of  Lesina !  " 

Half-dazed  and  with  the  sullen  demeanour  of  the 
wounded  tiger,  the  Catalan  rose.  His  face  was  ashen 
gray;  ropelike  his  thick  black  hair  hung  over  his  be- 
grimed forehead,  while  his  bloodshot  eyes  were  riveted 
on  the  ground.  Summoning  around  him  his  men-at-arms, 
they  stalked  over  the  mangled,  prostrate  forms  of  the 
dead  and  dying,  and  left  the  Torre,  from  which  Lesina 
had  so  mysteriously  vanished.  Then  the  duke  strode  up 
to  the  immobile  Saracen  leader,  grasped  his  black  beard 
with  a  sudden  and  unforeseen  motion  of  his  right  hand, 
and,  giving  it  a  vigorous  pull,  hissed  in  the  teeth  of  the 
emir: 

"  Dog  of  an  infidel !  Tell  the  king  his  commands  are 
obeyed ! " 


CHAPTER   XV. 

AN   ADVENTURE 

Slowly  the  sun  of  another  day  had  sunk  to  rest,  and 
one  by  one  the  stars  began  to  appear  in  the  sapphire  vault 
of  heaven.  Manfred,  dreaming  of  the  future  and  the 
impending  realization  of  his  keenest  hopes  and  desires, 
was  traversing  one  of  the  more  secluded  walks  of  the 
garden,  when  he  heard  a  hobbling  step  behind  him,  and, 
looking  around,  beheld  an  aged  and  withered  crone,  who 
upon  overtaking  him  immediately  prostrated  herself  at 
his  feet.  At  first  his  preoccupied  memory  scarcely  recog- 
nized her,  till  the  tones  of  her  ravenlike  voice  fell  upon 
his  ear. 

The  old  hag  seemed  to  mistake  the  king  for  another, 
for,  rising  at  his  beck,  she  croaked  :  "  Hist,  knight,  —  I 
bear  a  secret  matter.  But  first,  that  thou  mayest  believe 
in  me  —  knowest  thou  this  Nazarene  amulet,  which  I 
bring  as  a  token  from  one  who,  in  great  dread  of  a 
mighty  enemy,  has  sought  refuge  among  the  followers 
of  the  prophet  ?  " 

Manfred  scanned  the  uncanny  messenger  with  a  scru- 
tinizing gaze. 

"  I  have  seen  it  ere  now,"  he  replied  deliberately,  tak- 
ing care  not  to  reveal  his  identity,  while  he  glanced  at  the 
quaint  silver  medallion  which  the  Moorish  hag  held  out 
to  him  in  her  withered  claw. 

"  The  lady  to  whom  this  medallion  belongs,  and  who 

334 


Hn  H^venture  33s 

hath  often  sought  the  aid  of  our  power,  sends  thee  this 
token  and  by  it  adjures  thee  to  see  her  in  all  haste  and 
secrecy,  and  to  devise  means  for  immediate  flight,"  said 
the  crone.  "  Or,  if  it  be  not  possible  for  thee  to  flee 
with  her  this  very  night,  at  least  she  would  confide  to 
thee  a  matter  upon  which  hangs  life  and  death." 

The  old  hag  paused,  her  dark  eyes  eagerly  scanning 
the  face  of  the  supposed  Lombard.  The  king  had  little 
cause  to  place  any  trust  in  his  Moorish  suppliant,  though 
the  message  sounded  plausible  and  was  supported  by  cir- 
cumstances but  too  well  known  to  him  through  the  Vis- 
conti.  Accordingly  the  final  statement,  coupled  with  his 
information  regarding  Helena  di  Miraval's  mysterious 
abduction  and  his  own  knowledge  of  the  duke's  remorse- 
less temper,  excited  Manfred's  apprehension  in  the  highest 
degree.  He  rapidly  revolved  in  his  mind  the  chances  of 
reaching  Ottorino,  but,  considering  the  nature  and 
urgency  of  the  appeal,  he  upon  second  consideration 
abandoned  the  thought,  prompted  as  much  by  the  fas- 
cination of  the  adventure  itself  as  impelled  by  the  hope 
of  proving  instrumental  in  restoring  his  lost  treasure  to 
the  despairing  Lombard.  Convinced,  after  many  inquiries, 
of  the  plausibility  of  the  old  dame's  statements,  Manfred 
finally  resolved  to  accompany  her  to  Helena's  place  of 
refuge.  His  usually  darkly  garbed  person  he  fancied 
would  run  little  risk  of  being  recognized  in  the  ever  deep- 
ening dusk,  the  less  so  with  the  addition  of  a  nocturnal 
visor  and  cloak,  worn  by  the  nobles  at  a  period  when 
innumerable  feuds  rendered  almost  every  third  man  an 
enemy.  The  secret  hope  of  gathering  intelligence  more 
definite  in  regard  to  Enrico's  mysterious  death  proved 
another  equally  potent  factor  urging  Manfred  onward. 
After  having  adjusted  visor  and  cloak,  he  commanded 
the  hag  to  lead  the  way,  following  his  g^ide  at  some 


33^  Castel  t>el  /IDonte 

distance  and  taking  care  not  to  lose  sight  of  her.  After 
traversing  the  vale  of  the  Oreto,  they  at  length  arrived 
at  the  alchemist's  habitation.  Without  that  misgiving 
which  he  for  whom  the  summons  had  been  meant  would 
have  experienced  upon  beholding  the  dismal  watercourse, 
Manfred  consented  to  enter  the  narrow  channel,  the 
Moorish  hag  leading  the  way.  For  some  time  they  pro- 
ceeded by  the  dim  light  which  fell  from  between  dark 
and  gloomy  walls,  until  Manfred  imagined  that  they  were 
near  the  place  indicated  by  the  old  woman.  Suddenly  a 
loud  crash  sounded  from  behind.  Manfred  had  scarcely 
time  to  turn  in  alarm  to  ascertain  the  cause  ere  streams 
of  light  blazed  down  upon  him  from  various  unsuspected 
holes  in  the  lofty  walls  of  the  enclosure,  and  innumerable 
faces,  instinct  with  malice  and  rage,  peered  at  him.  A 
storm  of  hooting,  revilings,  and  cries  for  vengeance  as- 
sailed his  ears  like  discordant  shrieks  in  a  tropical  Indian 
forest.  Arquebuses  and  crossbows  were  levelled  at  his 
head  from  many  points,  and  he  perceived  that  the  waters 
in  the  dark  channel  were  rising  rapidly,  and  that  an  iron 
grill  had  descended  between  himself  and  the  exit.  At  this 
fearful  crisis  a  door  in  front  flew  open  and  the  form  of 
a  half-clad  girl  appeared,  shrieking,  "  Enrico  —  Enrico !  " 
with  delirious  and  despairing  iteration.  His  aged  guide 
called  to  Manfred  to  fly  and  save  himself,  while  she  ran 
up  the  stairs,  seizing  the  girl  in  her  arms.  The  king 
made  but  one  spring  after  her  into  the  vault,  which  was 
in  total  darkness,  when  suddenly  he  felt  himself  seized  on 
all  sides.  His  efforts  to  draw  his  sword  proved  futile, 
for  it  had  been  snatched  from  the  sheath  from  behind. 
At  the  same  instant  lights  flashed  on  all  sides,  and  he 
found  himself  completely  hemmed  in  by  a  throng  of 
Moslems,  armed  with  knives  and  poniards  and  raging 
with  wild  imprecations  and  fury.     Treachery  and  Alta- 


an  H&venturc  337 

mura  were  ideas  which  flashed  almost  simultaneously 
through  Manfred's  mind.  He  anticipated  little  less  than 
immediate  destruction,  yet  he  disdained  to  reveal  his 
identity,  determined  to  discover  the  clue  to  the  mystery 
which  had  so  long  baffled  mankind,  and  which  the  mere 
suspicion  of  his  presence  would  shroud  in  abysmal  dark- 
ness. He  had  not  fully  decided  upon  the  course  which 
would  lead  him  from  the  present  dilemma,  when  the  old 
crone,  his  former  guide,  suddenly  rushed  upon  him, 
shrieking,  while  with  her  long,  bony  claws  she  clutched 
at  his  surcoat. 

"  Dog  of  mine  enemy !  Shall  I  witness  for  thee  that 
thou  hast  betrayed  and  defiled  the  pure  blood  of  Omar, 
and  the  punishment  which  is  upon  it?  Accursed  be  thou 
and  all  thy  tribe,  and  blessed  by  Allah  be  they  who  con- 
trive at  thy  destruction !  " 

Manfred  receded  as  close  to  the  wall  as  the  narrow 
channel  would  permit,  resolved  only  as  a  last  resort  to 
reveal  his  identity. 

"  Bind  him !  Lead  him  before  the  king,  —  the  friend 
of  the  Saracens !  "  "  Yield  thee,  accursed  giaour,  be- 
trayer of  the  daughter  of  the  prophets,"  some  voices  were 
heard  to  yell.  From  the  sudden  stillness  which  succeeded 
this  outburst  of  frenzy,  Manfred  augured  that  there  was 
no  immediate  danger  of  assassination.  The  enraged 
throng  pressed  around  him  closer  and  closer,  and  to  argue 
with  them  with  their  passions  heated  to  their  present 
frenzy  he  knew  would  be  a  vain  and  fruitless  endeavour. 
The  mad  girl's  shrieks  continued  to  ring  from  a  secluded 
chamber  down  the  gloomy  gallery.  Suddenly  a  dark 
form  loomed  up  in  the  background,  causing  the  Moslems 
to  give  way  on  both  sides  and  revealing  the  passion-in- 
flamed countenance  of  the  Duke  of  Altamura. 

"  Villain  —  most   prodigious    villain !  "    he    exclaimed, 


33^  Castel  &cl  /iDonte 

swiftly  approaching-  his  prisoner  and  no  longer  able  to 
disguise  his  triumph.  "  At  last  I  have  tracked  thee  to  thy 
haunts  !  I  will  not  recite  all  thy  crimes,  the  basest  among 
which  is  the  use  thou  hast  made  of  thy  Moorish  paramour 
to  spread  black  suspicion  against  myself.  Admit  thy 
guilt,  —  thou  hast  but  scant  time  for  confession,  and  less 
for  repentance." 

Manfred,  who  had  remained  silent  during  the  mad 
uproar  provoked  by  his  arrival,  found  himself  under  the 
necessity  of  abandoning  a  policy  which  the  entrance  of 
the  duke  rendered  equally  futile  and  perilous,  for,  once 
the  signal  given  to  seize  his  person,  he  would  be  unable  to 
make  himself  heard  in  the  frenzied  clamour  and  uproar. 

"  Thy  steel  is  swift,  Duke  of  Altamura  —  though  thy 
vengeance  has  mistaken  its  victim !  "  He  spoke  in  tones 
as  clear  and  calm  as  if  the  words  were  carved  out  of 
marble. 

At  the  sound  of  the  well-known  voice  the  duke  started, 
his  pallor  deepening  into  more  livid  hues,  and  he  glanced 
from  the  speaker  to  the  Moorish  hags  and  from  the  latter 
to  his  prisoner  with  such  an  expression  of  incredulous 
amazement  that  the  words  he  tried  to  speak  were  choked 
in  the  utterance.  Nor  did  Manfred  afford  him  time  for 
parley,  for,  raising  his  visor,  he  stood  revealed  to  the 
whole  evil  company  by  the  glorious  wealth  of  his  golden 
locks.  So  terrible  was  the  consternation  among  the  tools 
of  the  duke's  malice  that  they  prostrated  themselves  as 
one  man  at  his  feet,  not  daring  to  raise  their  eyes  to  the 
royal  countenance. 

"  Gaze  not  so  wildly,  my  lord  duke,"  Manfred  con- 
tinued, in  accents  not  devoid  of  irony.  "We  came  but 
hither  as  proxy  for  another  for  whom  thou  hadst  pre- 
pared this  splendid  reception." 

The  duke  bent  low  to  conceal  his  mortification. 


an  H&t>cnture  $39 

"  I  crave  the  king's  pardon !  "  he  stammered,  after  a 
pause.  "  Little  did  I  expect  to  meet  the  son  of  Frederick 
the  emperor  in  these  hovels  and  in  this  company !  As 
for  that  other,  —  I  owe  him  scant  thanks  and  less  good 
will,  for  what  ulterior  motive  may  urge  on  his  frenzy,  — 
the  intent  deserves  of  recognition !  •" 

A  disdainful  wave  of  Manfred's  hand  interrupted  the 
speaker. 

"  We  came  not  hither  to  engage  in  such  subtle  con- 
troversy. Bring  hither  the  girl  whose  shrieks  were  to 
have  been  the  signal  of  the  Visconti's  doom,  —  we  would 
have  speech  with  her." 

This  command  was  directed  toward  the  trembling, 
cowering  hag,  who  would  have  slunk  away  had  not 
Manfred  now  barred  the  egress.  She  mumbled  an  inar- 
ticulate response,  but,  instead  of  obeying,  her  gaze  rose 
in  mute  interrogation  to  the  Duke  of  Altamura. 

"  By  the  splendour  of  God !  "  Manfred  turned  upon 
the  vindictive  crone.  "  Whose  commands  are  obeyed 
here?  Bring  the  girl  to  our  presence,  else  thou  wilt  not 
cheat  the  hangman  longer  out  of  thy  time-withered 
carcass ! " 

There  was  something  in  Manfred's  eye  which  caused 
the  hag  to  rise  and  slink  away,  not,  however,  ere  she 
had,  unobserved  by  the  king,  exchanged  a  meaning  glance 
with  the  duke.  The  cries  of  the  mad  girl  had  ceased,  and, 
heedless  of  Altamura's  sullen  presence,  Manfred  awaited 
with  ill-concealed  anxiety  the  return  of  the  old  dame. 
But  moment  after  moment  passed  and  she  came  not.  The 
king  was  on  the  point  of  penetrating  alone,  regardless 
of  the  hazard  of  the  venture,  into  the  intricate  labyrinth 
of  the  old  pile,  when  shuffling  steps  were  heard  approach- 
ing from  a  direction  whence  he  had  least  expected  them, 
and  both  Moorish  dames  came  slowly  out  of  the  dusk, 


34©  Castel  t)el  /»ontc 

carrying  between  them  the  apparently  lifeless  body  of 
Leila.  The  hags  laid  their  comparatively  light  burden  at 
Manfred's  feet,  while  with  many  grotesque  bends  and 
malicious  leers  of  their  serpent  eyes  they  expanded  on 
the  strange  illness  of  the  unfortunate  girl.  Like  a  waxen 
image  Leila  lay  upon  the  faded  blanket  which  they  had 
hastily  wrapped  around  her  frail  body. 

Manfred  bent  over  the  wasted  form  of  the  poor  mad 
girl,  regarding  her  with  long  and  wistful  gaze,  then  he 
turned  a  terrible  look  upon  the  duke,  whose  countenance 
was  overspread  with  a  purple  pallor  and  whose  eyes  dared 
not  meet  those  which  he  knew  were  riveted  upon  him. 

"  Guide  us  back  to  earth  and  lead  the  way,"  Manfred 
at  last  said,  imperiously,  while  the  duke  stammered  some 
incoherent  apologies  and,  bowing  low  in  deference  to  the 
royal  command,  preceded  the  king  through  the  dark 
passage;  but  such  a  terrible  glance  did  he  bestow  on 
his  Moorish  coadjutors  that,  shuddering  and  whining, 
they  raised  Leila's  frail  body  between  them  and  crept 
back  into  their  hovels. 

After  having  safely  emerged  into  the  moonlit  groves, 
the  king  parted  from  Altamura  and  returned  alone  to 
the  palace,  without  being  one  jot  nearer  the  solution  of 
the  mystery  than  before. 

An  hour  later  the  duke  entered  a  dismal  chamber  in  the 
Torre  del  Diavolo,  which,  securely  locked  and  dimly 
lighted,  had  escaped  the  devastation  wrought  by  Lesina's 
band  in  the  duke's  stronghold.  For  a  moment  Altamura 
paused,  while  a  convulsive  tremor  shook  his  frame. 

"  How  dreary  this  abode,  —  since  she  has  left  it,"  he 
murmured,  glancing  around  uneasily;  then  he  turned  to 
Crivello  the  Catalan,  who  had  preceded  his  terrible  master 
and  was  awaiting  the  manifestation  of  his  will. 


Hn  H&venture  341 

"  The  hour  has  come,  Crivello,"  said  the  duke,  chang- 
ing his  tone  to  a  sneer,  "  when  thou  must  call  up  the 
flimsy  ghosts  of  all  those  thou  hast  sent  butchered  to  the 
fiends,  to  help  thee  lead  thy  victims  to  their  doom." 

Crivello  stared  aghast  at  this  ominous  speech. 

"  My  lord,  —  what  may  this  now  avail,  —  the  corona- 
tion is  scarce  a  day  removed  ?  " 

"  Between  life  and  death  there  is  not  one  moment, 
Crivello,"  remarked  the  duke,  sombrely.  "  A  day !  'Tis 
long  enough  for  the  destruction  of  the  whole  human  race, 
—  had  we  but  the  means  in  our  hands.  I  practise  the 
maxims  I  preach,  crushing  those  I  have  provoked,  striking 
suddenly  and  with  but  one  blow,  rooting  out  the  ob- 
stacles to  my  greatness,  thus  depriving  my  haters  of  their 
sole  balance  against  me." 

Crivello  glanced  at  his  terrible  master  with  an  expres- 
sion of  awe. 

"And  has  your  Excellency  chosen  me  to  be  present 
at  the  feast,  that  mine  ears  may  tingle  with  the  music  ?  " 

"  Thou  knowest  I  am  at  times  of  a  sallow  and  melan- 
choly mood,  and  require  strange  harmonies  to  enliven  my 
dark  meditations !  " 

"  Your  Excellency  has  marked  some  —  high  in  the 
Church." 

"  What  of  it  ?    What  ails  thee,  my  man  ?  " 

"  You  would  not  slay  them  as  —  " 

"As  their  more  worldly  brethren?  Believe  me,  Cri- 
vello, when  they  are  laid  out  side  by  side,  their  carcasses 
deprived  of  their  costly  covers,  —  not  even  thy  discrim- 
inating eyes  will  be  able  to  discover  churchman  from 
layman." 

"  But  you  would  not  lay  hands  on  a  cardinal  ?  "  ex- 
claimed the  Catalan,  in  amazement,  crossing  himself  re- 
peatedly. 


342  Castel  &el  /Route 

"  Shall  I  rear  the  viper  brood  in  mine  own  house  ?  I 
am  no  respecter  of  persons,  Crivello.  They  shall  p>erish 
together,  —  only  the  cardinals  shall  come  last,  that  their 
more  worldly  brethren  may  profit  by  their  parting  spir- 
itual advice.  And  now  take  the  lamp  and  lead  the  way 
below.  The  moon  looks  too  revealingly  into  our  enter- 
prise —  and  thy  too  tender  conscience." 

Crivello  bowed  in  silence,  though  he  did  not  conceal  an 
expression  of  deep  chagrin,  which  the  duke  failed  not  to 
note,  for  his  penetrating  gaze  never  abandoned  the  cas- 
tellan. The  latter  led  the  way  with  rapid  strides,  and 
they  soon  arrived  at  a  massive  oaken  door.  The  duke 
burst  this  open  with  a  furious  kick  and  entered  in  ad- 
vance of  the  castellan. 

It  was  a  gloomy  chamber  with  grated  windows,  open- 
ing into  a  narrow  courtyard.  There  in  the  corner,  his 
large  white  eyes  glaring  with  a  strange  expression  of 
bloodthirsty  eagerness,  knelt  Zem,  the  African,  busily  en- 
gaged in  stripping  the  bulky  carcass  of  a  man.  The  cas- 
tellan, holding  high  the  lamp,  stared  with  dogged  im- 
passiveness  at  the  spectacle  which  revealed  itself  to  his 
stony  gaze.  The  light,  falling  on  a  ghastly  and  distorted 
visage,  revealed  the  features  of  Landulf  of  Trent,  and 
also  the  means  of  his  death,  a  handkerchief  knotted  in  a 
peculiar  manner  around  his  neck.  At  a  little  distance 
lay  another  corpse,  partially  thrust  into  a  sack;  a  third 
body,  that  of  San  Severino,  lay  stretched  out,  black  in 
the  face,  the  eyes  protruding  from  their  sockets. 

The  Catalan  approached  the  partially  concealed  carcass, 
and,  bending  over  it  with  his  lamp,  endeavoured  to  iden- 
tify the  victim,  but,  failing  in  his  efforts,  his  gaze  re- 
turned  inquiringly   to   the   duke. 

"  Here  lies  all  that  is  mortal  of  Count  Cenci,  pleni- 
potentiary of  the  King  of  Sicily  at  the  Conclave  of  Vi- 


an  adventure  343 

terbo.  The  Lord  grant  him  a  happy  awakening,"  the 
duke  responded,  in  a  nasal,  canting  tone,  whose  sarcasm 
contrasted  fearfully  with  the  air  of  death  which  hovered 
around  the  very  walls.  "  As  for  San  Severino,"  he  con- 
tinued, in  accents  more  fierce,  "  let  him  seek  his  bride 
in  hell,  since  she  spurned  his  suit  on  earth.  And  yonder 
Teuton,  —  ah!  He  loved  our  Southern  skies  so  well 
that  we  may  well  grant  him  six  foot  of  Southern  earth. 
He  was  reluctant  to  return  to  his  land  of  flaxen-haired 
maidens,  were-wolves,  and  sour  grapes,  —  perchance  we 
did  not  cheat  him  in  the  exchange.  And  now,  Crivello, 
thou  wilt  learn  that  I  have  as  much  need  of  thee  as  thou 
canst  ever  have  of  me.  Follow  me,  —  nay,  fear  not,  — 
for  if  I  wanted  to  slay  thee  thou  wouldst  be  even  now 
in  paradise." 

"  I  admire  your  Grace's  policy,"  stammered  the  Cat- 
alan, half-sullen,  half-sincere,  "  though  I  understand  not 
all  its  intricate  windings.  You  have  despatched  these,  — 
yet  your  greatest  enemies  live :  Lancia,  Capece,  and  John 
of  Procida." 

"They  live,  —  how  long?"  replied  the  duke,  with  a 
fearful  smile,  then,  beckoning  his  companion  to  follow 
him,  he  led  the  way  out  of  the  chamber.  The  two  crossed 
a  shadowy  court  to  a  tower,  and  ascended  by  a  flight  of 
narrow  stairs  to  a  chamber,  barred  within  and  guarded 
without.  For  a  moment  he  paused,  turning  to  the  cas- 
tellan who  was  closely  on  his  heels. 

"  The  Conclave  of  Viterbo  has  spoken ;  the  Cardinal  of 
Narbonne,  the  mortal  enemy  of  the  Hohenstaufen,  is 
the  chosen  successor  to  Urban." 

While  the  Catalan  stared  incredulously  at  the  speaker, 
the  duke,  passing  the  guard,  unlocked  the  door,  where- 
upon he  and  Crivello  entered,  and  noiselessly  the  portals 
closed  behind  their  retreating  forms. 


CHAPTER   XVT. 


THE  EXCOMMUNICATION 


The  morning  of  the  eventful  day  which  was  to  seal 
the  destinies  of  the  Sicilian  kingdom  of  Hohenstaufen 
was  slowly  breaking,  A  distant  clamour  of  merriment 
and  the  ringing  of  the  bells  from  cloisters  and  convents 
mingled  with  the  strains  of  martial  music,  as  at  early 
dawn  a  flood  of  horsemen  swept  through  the  verdant 
avenues  of  Palermo.  The  waving  heron-plumes,  iron- 
chain  armour,  and  gleaming  helmets,  the  rich  trappings 
of  the  horses,  caparisoned  in  velvet  with  silver  reins,  the 
streaming  banners,  turbans  starred  and  striped  with 
silver  and  gold,  surmounted  by  lances  painted  red  and 
blue,  and  the  unsheathed  scimitars,  revealed  the  array 
of  Sidi  Yussufif's  Saracens.  The  great  Moslem  leader, 
dressed  in  a  purple  kaftan  lined  with  sable,  and  mounted 
upon  a  steed  covered  with  steel  and  gold,  rode  at  the 
head  of  almost  countless  files  of  archers,  whose  faces 
were  bronzed  by  the  suns  of  Syria  and  Iran.  A  dis- 
cordant din  of  drums,  flutes,  timbrels,  and  gongs,  the 
clash  of  armour,  jingling  of  chains,  and  shouts  of 
"Allah/*  were  confounded  in  one  terrible  and  warlike 
noise,  which  lingered  long  upon  the  air  after  the  tramp 
of  thousands  of  horses'  hoofs  had  died  away  in  the 
distance. 

It  was  in  the  ancient  cathedral  of  Santa  Rosalia,  the 

344 


Ubc  Bicommunication  345 

patron  saint  of  Palermo,  that  the  coronation  of  Manfred 
as  King  of  Sicily,  Apulia,  and  Capua  was  to  be  con- 
summated. 

The  noonday  sun  shed  his  piercing  rays  over  the  vast 
area  of  the  interior,  lighting  up  innumerable  shrines  and 
altars,  all  glistening  with  gold  plate,  emblazoned  canopies, 
set  forth  with  relics  of  saints  and  statuary  and  every 
decoration  of  precious  ornaments.  Columns  of  porphyry 
and  cipolin  seemed  to  drop  like  fantastic  stalactites  from 
the  golden  Byzantine  arches,  and  the  entire  nave  was 
bathed  in  glowing  colour.  Soft  gleams  of  sunlight  found 
their  way  through  the  painted  windows,  covering  the 
mosaics  upon  the  undulating  walls  with  golden  glory. 
The  grand  altar  had  been  raised  upon  a  circular  platform, 
carpeted  with  cloth  of  gold  and  canopied  by  a  pavilion 
of  starry  azure.  It  was  surmounted  by  the  diagonally 
crossed  banners  of  the  Ghibellines,  a  white  lily  in  a  field 
of  carmine,  and  the  imperial  standards  of  Hohenstaufen, 
the  crowned  sun-soaring  eagle  in  a  field  of  azure. 

The  hour  was  early  and  the  vast  nave  dreamed  of 
the  splendour  of  bygone  days,  of  the  destinies  of  days  to 
come.  Around  it  were  the  sombre  and  stately  resting- 
places  of  princes  born  in  the  purple,  assembled  here  from 
lands  so  distant,  from  the  craggy  heights  of  Hohen- 
staufen in  far-off  Suabia,  from  the  green  orchards  of 
Cotentin,  from  the  dry  hills  of  Aragon.  Here  the  con- 
querors of  the  Southland  slept ;  the  porphyry  sarcophagus 
of  King  Roger  the  Norman  stood  side  by  side  with  that 
of  Constanzia,  mother  of  Frederick  the  Second,  who 
brought  Sicily  to  the  house  of  Hohenstaufen  and  in 
whom  the  glorious  dynasty  of  the  Norman  kings  came  to 
a  close.  In  front  of  Constanzia's  resting-place  towered 
the  porphyry  tomb  of  her  husband,  Emperor  Henry  the 
Sixth,  who  died  at  Messina  under  sentence  of  excom- 


346  Castel  &el  /TDontc 

munication  from  Celestine  III.,  which  for  a  time  forbade 
his  burial  in  hallowed  ground. 

Overshadowing  that  of  King  Roger  rose  the  sar- 
cophagus of  his  grandson,  the  great  Emperor  Fred- 
erick II.,  who  died  at  Castel  Fiorentino  in  Apulia.  When 
it  was  opened  almost  a  century  later,  after  the  last  of  his 
race  had  been  swept  from  the  throne  of  the  land  they 
had  loved  so  well,  the  body  of  the  emperor  was  found 
wrapt  in  the  robes  which  had  been  given  by  the  Saracens 
to  Emperor  Otto  IV.,  whose  aid  in  time  they  had  in- 
voked. An  ancient  sarcophagus  on  the  right  against 
the  wall  contained  the  remains  of  Constanzia  of  Ara- 
gon,  the  widow  of  Emerich,  King  of  Hungary,  the 
first  wife,  ten  years  older  than  himself,  who  was  forced 
by  Innocent  III.  upon  the  then  youthful  Emperor  Fred- 
erick 11.  Thus  almost  all  the  great  Hohenstaufen,  save 
alone  Frederick  I.,  Barbarossa,  whose  body  was  swept 
away  by  the  waves  of  the  Kydnos  during  his  crusade 
against  the  Seldschukkes  of  Damascus,  —  the  most  hated 
and  the  most  beloved,  —  slumbered  side  by  side  under  the 
high  vaulted  roof  of  the  great  Gothic  pile.  Here  they 
slept  unchanged,  though  centuries  passed  by.  Rude  hands 
break  open  the  granite  lids  of  their  sepulchres,  to  find 
tresses  of  yellow  hair,  fragments  of  imperial  mantles  em- 
broidered with  the  hawks  and  stags  the  royal  hunter 
loved.  But  the  huge  stone  arks  remain  unmoved,  guard- 
ing the  mouldering  dust  beneath  the  gloomy  canopies  of 
porphyry  and  malachite,  which  temper  the  light  of  the 
western  sun. 

The  tolling  of  many  bells,  the  clash  of  armour,  and  the 
shouts  of  the  multitudes,  over  which  rose  the  sound  of 
trumpets  and  din  of  Turkish  music,  announced  the  ap- 
proach of  the  royal  procession.  For  some  time  before  it 
appeared  a  melodious  chant  was  remotely  audible,  min- 


Ube  iBxcommunicatlon  347 

gling  with  that  of  the  cathedral  choirs  with  sweet  and 
melancholy  effect,  as  if  the  heavens  had  opened  and  the 
distant  harmony  descended  from  angelic  voices.  When 
the  magnificent  pageant  did  appear,  it  was  a  moving  mass 
of  glitter  and  sumptuous  colour  as  the  sun  streamed  down 
upon  it.  It  slowly  wound  its  way  down  the  Cassaro, 
headed  for  the  open  portals  of  the  cathedral,  around  which 
flocked  an  almost  bewildering  throng  of  counts,  barons, 
noblemen,  bishops,  knights,  friars,  and  beggars.  The 
rich  capes  of  the  ecclesiastics,  stiff  with  gold  and  gor- 
geous brocade,  the  jewelled  mantles  of  the  nobles,  the 
polished  breastplates  and  tasselled  spears  of  the  guards, 
the  steel  casques  and  velvet  robes  of  the  knights,  the 
Saracenic  banners,  the  blood-red  flags  with  the  crescent 
waving  above  thousands  of  turbaned  heads,  —  all  made 
a  dazzling  confusion  of  splendour. 

First  in  the  procession  came  twelve  heralds  upon  snow- 
white  chargers  and  garbed  in  the  colours  of  Hohen- 
staufen,  then  came  a  company  of  Apulian  spearmen,  fol- 
lowed by  another  of  Saracen  archers.  Directly  in  their 
wake  marched  the  entire  fighting  array  of  Sidi  Yussuff, 
and  those  who  closely  scrutinized  the  emir's  countenance 
wondered  at  the  deadly  pallor  of  his  set  features,  height- 
ened by  his  black  beard  and  the  stony  gaze  with  which 
he  stared  straight  before  him,  looking  neither  to  the  left 
nor  to  the  right.  After  these  came  a  company  of  fifty 
pages,  dressed  in  scarlet,  green,  and  yellow  doublets, 
richly  embroidered,  and  bearing  white  staffs,  the  em- 
blems of  their  peaceful  mission.  Another  company  of 
Apulian  knights  came  into  sight,  then,  head  erect  and 
towering  above  even  the  tallest  in  the  procession,  appeared 
Manfred,  Prince  of  Taranto.  A  deafening  shout  went  up 
when  the  people  beheld  their  beloved  ruler,  conspicuous 
not  alone  by  the  traditional  comeliness  of  his  house,  but 


348  Castel  Del  /ftontc 

likewise  by  the  peculiar  magnificence  of  his  dress.  The 
dark  green  hunting-suit  which  he  was  accustomed  to 
wear  had  been  replaced  by  a  garb  of  rich  crimson  satin 
and  gold  brocade ;  his  cap  with  the  white  heron's  feather 
was  encircled  by  three  rows  of  jewels,  conspicuous  among 
which  were  pearls  and  rubies  of  great  price.  His  doublet 
glittered  with  so  brilliant  a  lustre  that  it  dazzled  the  eye 
as  much  as  the  sun.  Even  his  boots  were  of  fretted  gold- 
work;  and  a  magnificent  mantle  of  imperial  purple, 
lined  with  ermine,  almost  covered  his  noble  charger.  The 
imperial  flambeau  and  the  insignia  of  many  illustrious 
orders  of  knighthood  completed  his  splendid  accoutre- 
ment. 

Manfred  was  surrounded  by  the  entire  council  of  the 
kingdom.  He  himself  rode  between  Frederick  of  An- 
tioch,  his  stepbrother,  and  John  of  Procida,  closely  fol- 
lowed by  Drogo,  high  admiral  of  the  realm,  the  brothers 
Lancia  and  Capece,  the  Count  of  Caserta,  and  the  chan- 
cellor John  of  Alif6.  The  Duke  of  Altamura,  who  rode 
directly  in  their  wake,  was  generally  remarked  for  his 
sombre  habit  of  black  velvet,  which  contrasted  strangely 
with  the  deadly  pallor  of  his  visage.  He  rode  at  the 
head  of  the  Apulian  barons,  and  was  closely  followed 
by  the  Lords  of  Lecce,  Monopoli,  Bari,  Andria,  Foggia, 
Melfi,  Potanza,  Tricarico,  Avelino,  Catanzaro,  Ceriguola, 
Aversa,  Acerra,  and  Venosa.  These  in  turn  preceded 
the  envoys  of  the  Ghibelline  states,  vying  with  each  other 
in  splendour  of  array  and  accoutrement. 

The  sea-green  banner  with  the  Golden  Viper,  the  em- 
blem of  the  Visconti  of  Milan,  floated  proudly  in  the 
glowing  sunlit  air,  and  the  Lombard  contingent,  led  by 
Ottorino,  moved  at  the  head  of  the  gleaming  procession, 
followed  by  the  embassies  of  Marino  Tiepolo,  Doge  of 
Venice,  and  Andrea  Doria,  ruler  of  Genoa,  the  latter 


XTbe  Bxcommuntcatton  349 

represented  by  the  noble  Fiesco  da  Lavagna,  afterward 
destined  to  so  tragic  an  end.  The  contingent  of  Can- 
grande  della  Scala  of  Verona  rode  ahead  the  Pisan  caval- 
cade, led  by  Ugguccione,  leader  of  the  Ghibellines  in  that 
third  maritime  city  of  Italy.  Then  one  by  one  appeared 
the  contingents  of  Feltro  in  Treviso,  and  Montefeltro  in 
Urbino,  of  Obizzo  of  Este  and  Ferrara,  the  envoys  of 
Gerhard  da  Cammino,  Lord  of  Padua  and  Treviso,  of 
Guido  of  Monfort,  who  six  years  later  during  holy  mass 
killed  Henry,  son  of  Richard  Cornwallis,  in  the  cathedral 
of  Viterbo,  of  Cassalodia  of  Mantua,  and  of  Michael, 
former  Seneschal  of  King  Enzio,  Manfred's  stepbrother, 
now  Lord  of  Logodoro  in  Sardinia.  One  long  array  of 
courtly  splendour  comprised  the  embassies  of  Peter  of 
Aragon,  Manfred's  kinsman,  the  Kings  of  Castile,  and 
the  imperial  Comneni  of  Epirus.  These  embassies  were 
followed  by  representatives  from  Asti,  Imola,  and  Faenza, 
the  Foccaccia  of  Pistoja,  Malatesta,  Lord  of  Verucchio 
and  Rimini,  William,  Marquis  of  Montferrat,  Provengan 
Salvani,  Lord  of  Sienna,  and  the  Lambertazzi  of  Bologna. 
The  banners  of  Ghibelline  Italy  floated  around  the  portals 
of  the  cathedral  in  imposing  array:  the  eagle  of  the 
Polentas  of  Cervia  and  Ravenna,  the  green  lion  of  Forli, 
the  cock  of  the  Galuras,  the  blue  eagle  of  Este,  the  broken 
column  of  the  Colonnas,  the  ladder  of  the  Della  Scalas, 
the  broken  loaf  of  the  Frangipani,  the  flaming  torch  of 
the  Modicas,  and  the  hitherto  unconquered  rampant  lion 
of  Cyprus,  in  the  azure  house  of  Lusignan,  waved  proudly 
beside  the  lion  of  San  Marco. 

Helena  of  Epirus,  the  queen,  with  her  stately  retinue, 
consisting  of  the  most  beautiful  women  of  Sicily,  closed 
the  procession,  which  now  poured  down  the  sunlit  aisles, 
spreading  fanlike  to  the  right  and  left,  each  dignitary, 
nobleman,  and  envoy  taking  the  station  assigned  to  him 


3SO  Castel  ^el  /iDonte 

by  the  master  of  ceremonies.  From  various  chapels  the 
choirs  poured  forth  their  torrents  of  melody,  mingling  in 
one  grand  choral,  as  if  to  illustrate  the  union  of  the 
Church  with  the  powers  of  the  world,  and  the  mighty 
multitude  joined  in  the  Gloria  in  Excelsis  which  rose 
to  the  vaulted  roof  and  vibrated  in  long,  ringing  echoes. 

Ottorino  Visconti  had  taken  his  station  in  the  fore- 
ground of  the  cathedral,  and  so  deadly  was  the  pallor 
of  his  face  that  it  called  forth  almost  universal  comment. 

A  great  weariness  weighed  down  Ottorino's  spirit, 
filling  his  heart  with  a  dim  consciousness  of  the  futility 
of  all  ambition  and  all  endeavour.  Every  effort  to  find 
a  trace  of  the  woman  whom  he  had  lost  on  the  very 
threshold  of  liberty  had  been  fruitless.  Oblivious  to  the 
present  and  to  the  pompous  scenes  which  surrounded  him 
on  all  sides,  he  stared  vacantly  into  space.  Every  now 
and  then  his  thoughts  reverted  to  that  fateful  night,  and 
the  chant  murmured  past  his  ears  like  the  gentle  sound 
of  waves  flowing  'neath  the  mesmerism  of  the  moon, 
while  all  manner  of  vague  suggestions  rushed  over  him. 

Innumerable  candles  in  bronze,  silver,  and  gold  can- 
delabras  shed  their  unsteady  glow  through  the  purple 
dusk.  In  the  dazzling  effulgence,  which  confused  and 
blinded  the  expectant  multitudes,  no  one  noted  the  gradual 
dying  out  of  the  light  of  day.  The  sky  over  the  cathedral 
was  without  a  stain,  but  the  eminences  toward  the  west, 
whose  lovely  slopes  were  covered  by  vineyards  and  olive 
groves,  were  hung  with  gloom.  A  huge  and  sullen  cloud 
seemed  to  be  gathering  over  the  heights,  and  occasionally 
flashes  and  gleams  of  malignant  flame  burst  from  its 
bosom. 

As  the  hours  wore  on  the  cloud  deepened,  obscuring 
the  brightness  of  the  sun,  which  had  been  hanging  over 
the  city  like  a  fiery  buckler.     The  distant  roar  grew 


Ube  Bxcommunication  351 

louder  and  more  continued,  and  the  blackness  of  night, 
of  night  without  a  star,  fell  far  and  fast  upon  the  horizon. 

The  gaze  of  the  assembly  was  now  directed  toward  the 
background,  whence  slowly,  two  by  two,  in  their  funereal 
garb,  the  Dominican  brotherhood  filed  in,  forming  a 
crescent  around  the  chancel,  which  was  as  yet  deserted. 

Oceanlike  now  rose  the  chant  of  measured  voices,  but 
instead  of  the  Kyrie  Eleison  the  sounds  of  the  hymn  — 

"  Vexilla  Regis  prodeunt  inf erni  "  — 

were  darkly  intoned  by  the  Dominicans,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  a  pall  had  suddenly  fallen  over  all  the  many-hued 
magnificence  which  had  set  the  air  alight. 

On  an  ebony  table,  richly  carved  and  inlaid  with  gems 
of  great  price,  lay  the  fateful  crown  of  Hohenstaufen, 
the  crown  with  which  Emperor  Frederick  had  proclaimed 
himself  King  of  Jerusalem  in  defiance  of  papal  interdict 
and  excommunication,  the  crown  which  he  had  success- 
fully defended  against  three  hostile  pontiflFs. 

Manfred  stood  before  the  elevated  platform  directly 
beneath  the  station  of  the  Archbishop  of  Palermo,  who 
w^as  to  perform  the  ceremony.  He  glanced  uneasily 
around  the  nave,  while  a  shadow  of  profound  displeasure 
clouded  the  clear  and  youthful  brow.  Where  tarried  the 
archbishop?  Still  the  chancel  was  deserted,  the  chant 
had  ceased,  and  every  eye  rested  with  expectant  eager- 
ness on  the  son  of  their  beloved  emperor,  whose  gaze 
flitted  in  mute  interrogation  from  one  of  his  councillors 
to  another.  They,  however,  appeared  equally  stupefied 
at  the  unaccountable  absence  of  the  archbishop,  and  there 
was  a  breathless,  expectant  hush.  With  sudden  deter- 
mination Manfred  raised  the  crown  from  its  repository, 
and,  holding  it  aloft,  faced  the  assembled  thousands. 

"  In  the  name  and  omnipresence  of  the  Triune  God 


352  Castel  t)el  /iDonte 

and  by  the  freewill  of  the  people  of  Apulia,  Calabria,  and 
Sicily,  I  herewith  place  upon  my  brow  the  august  emblem 
of  our  imperial  house,  descended  unto  us  in  virtue  of  the 
testament  of  our  illustrious  predecessor,  Emperor  Con- 
rad IV.,  and  our  beloved  father,  now  resting  in  the  Lord, 
Emperor  Frederick  II.,  and  by  right  of  the  treaties  of 
Roger  the  Norman,  bequeathing  these  lands  unto 
Henry  VI.,  Emperor  of  Germany." 

A  sheet  of  lightning  at  this  instant  covered  the  entire 
horizon,  and  the  whole  edifice  rocked  and  trembled  in  the 
terrific  reverberation  which  almost  simultaneously  burst 
with  an  appalling  roar  over  the  cathedral.  The  vast 
assemblage  was  for  a  moment  swayed  by  an  unearthly 
terror,  as  if  doomed  to  immediate  destruction.  And  the 
crown  of  the  kingdom  of  Sicily  had  fallen  from  Man- 
fred's grasp  on  the  marble  floor  beneath. 

Again  a  large  sphere  of  fire  shot  fiercely  through  the 
heavens,  lighting  its  track  down  the  murky  air  and  cast- 
ing a  disastrous  and  pallid  illumination  over  the  bloodless 
faces  of  the  assembled  thousands.  Its  lurid  gleam  re- 
vealed the  form  of  a  Dominican,  who  stood  in  the  chancel 
instead  of  the  archbishop.  Throwing  back  his  cowl,  the 
severe  Spanish  features  of  Era  Domenico  were  disclosed 
to  view.  Pale  but  composed,  he  stood  like  one  brought 
forth  to  suffer  some  terrific  punishment,  yet  as  one  who 
despised  its  terrors. 

A  brief  silence  succeeded  the  sullen  roar  of  the  tempest, 
during  which  the  monk  peered  through  the  clouds  of 
incense,  as  if  collecting  all  his  energies  for  a  dreadful 
feat.  His  eyes  seemed  the  only  living  thing  in  that  stony, 
ascetic  face,  as  slowly  they  rolled  over  the  vast  assembly 
as  if  in  search  of  one  upon  whose  head  the  thunder  of 
his  anathema  might  descend.  For  a  moment  it  appeared 
as  if  the  friar  intended  to  speak,  but  the  words  he  had 


Ube  Bicommunication  353 

begun  to  form  died  on  his  lips;  his  chest  heaved  with 
convulsive  breathing,  but  again  he  was  silent. 

There  was  another  brief  pause  of  breathless  suspense. 
An  overwhelming  awe  had  fallen  upon  the  assembly, 
while  with  a  livid,  satirical  smile  the  Duke  of  Altamura 
watched  every  movement  of  the  Dominican,  as  if  assured 
that  no  failure  of  his  courage  need  be  anticipated. 

Manfred  started  as  if  waking  from  a  dream,  staring  in 
mute  wonder  from  the  emblem  of  royalty  which  lay  for- 
gotten at  his  feet  to  the  strange  occupant  of  the  chancel. 
Pale,  dazzled,  and  staggering,  as  if  under  the  influence 
of  a  sunstroke,  the  monk  swayed  in  the  pulpit  and  seemed 
about  to  fall,  when  his  gaze  lighted  on  the  pallid  visage 
of  the  Visconti.  Raising  himself  with  a  sudden  effort, 
he  fiercely  snatched  the  leaden  seal  from  the  bull  which 
he  held  in  his  tight  grasp.  Then,  while  lightnings  hissed 
from  the  ominous  gloom  of  the  clouds,  and  thunder  bel- 
lowed in  deafening  echoes  through  the  heavens,  the  monk 
in  strangely  discordant  tones  began  to  speak : 

"  In  the  name  of  Clement  IV.,  servant  of  servants  of 
God,  Viceroy  of  Christ  on  the  throne  of  the  Apostle,  and 
in  virtue  of  the  power  vested  in  him  by  Jesus  Christ  and 
St.  Peter,  his  successor,  I  herewith  pronounce  the  anath- 
ema over  Manfred,  son  of  Frederick  the  Hohenstaufen, 
over  Helena  of  Epirus,  consort  of  the  arch  heretic,  over 
their  sons,  their  daughters,  and  their  children's  children, 
over  their  friends,  their  adherents,  their  servants,  and 
their  hosts !  I  herewith  expel  them  from  the  communion 
of  the  saints  as  heretics,  standing  without  the  pale  of 
the  Church.  I  forbid  any  one,  under  like  penalty,  to  offer 
them  shelter  or  refuge,  drink  or  food;  I  withdraw  from 
their  guilty  heads  the  benefice  of  protection  and  law. 
I  forbid  any  friar  to  attend  their  sick-bed,  or  to  receive 
their  dying  confession,  and  I  deny  them  burial  in  conse- 


354  Castel  Del  Ubontc 

crated  earth!  I  herewith  grant  full  absolution  to  any 
one  whosoever  frees  the  land  from  the  reptile  progeny 
of  the  arch  heretic,  and  to  this  end  I  cut  asunder,  solve, 
and  break  the  ties  of  obedience  which  have  bound  to- 
gether subjects  and  king,  and  I  declare  null  and  void  all 
treaties,  public  or  private,  entered  into  by  Manfred,  Count 
of  Taranto,  or  by  authority  of  his  councillors,  friends,  or 
representatives!  I  further  lay  the  interdict  upon  every 
church,  cloister,  chapel,  or  sanctuary  in  Apulia  and  Sicily ; 
their  doors  shall  be  nailed  up ;  no  candle  shall  be  lighted, 
no  mass  shall  be  sung,  no  prayer  shall  ascend  to  the 
throne  of  heaven,  till  the  serpent  brood  of  Hohenstaufen 
has  been  swept  from  the  earth.  May  their  name  perish 
with  them  and  their  memory  be  wafted  into  oblivion  for 
ever  and  for  ever !  " 

After  the  last  echoes  of  the  anathema  had  died  away 
under  the  vaulted  roof  of  the  cathedral,  the  Dominican 
remained  for  a  moment  motionless  as  a  statue,  like  one 
benumbed  by  his  own  daring.  Then,  as  if  by  secret 
command,  every  light  in  the  cathedral  was  extinguished, 
and  the  dense  gloom  was  lightened  only  by  the  almost 
incessant  flashes  from  the  angry  heavens. 

With  a  shriek  that  rang  to  the  very  summit  of  the 
edifice,  Helena  of  Epirus  had,  after  the  last  words  of  the 
Dominican,  rushed  to  Manfred's  side,  and  when  Ottorino 
first  recovered  from  the  shock  of  the  fearful  catastrophe, 
he  beheld  king  and  queen  locked  in  each  other's  arms. 

For  a  moment  the  consternation  in  the  cathedral  was 
so  intense  that  hardly  a  sound  was  audible  in  the  vast 
area.  Every  one  had  retained  their  station  as  if  rooted 
to  the  spot.  Manfred  had  raised  both  arms  as  if  to  ward 
oflf  a  mortal  blow  from  the  head  of  his  beloved  queen. 
The  brothers  Lancia  glared  wrathfuUy  and  with  suspicion 
into  the  gjeen  serpent  eyes  of  John  of  Alife,   whose 


Ubc  Bxcommunication  3S5 

bewilderment  was  either  real  or  so  well  feigned  that  it 
defied  the  aim  of  suspicion.  Conrad  Capece  had  started 
up,  sword  in  hand,  but  Altamura  drew  him  back  and 
implored  him  in  a  whisper  to  desist  from  violence,  which 
would  but  aggravate  the  situation.  In  this  way  a  few 
moments  of  dull  and  abject  silence  passed.  Terror- 
stricken,  speechless,  and  breathless,  every  eye  followed 
the  Dominican,  the  representative  of  the  Church  of  Rome, 
the  greatest  power  on  earth,  as  his  tall,  sepulchral  form 
disappeared  in  the  background  among  the  shrines. 

Then  a  sudden  tide  of  fear  swept  over  the  lowly  mur- 
muring multitudes,  increasing  almost  to  a  panic  in  the 
funereal  pall  which  oppressed  them,  and,  as  if  pursued  by 
the  legions  of  some  formidable  unearthly  foe,  knights, 
squires,  pages,  and  men-at-arms  swept  in  one  mad  torrent 
over  each  other  in  the  wild,  unreasoning  impulse  of  gain- 
ing the  piazza,  crushing  beggars  and  noblemen,  women 
and  children,  in  fear-struck  panic.  As  they  did  so,  a  tre- 
mendous thunderbolt  descended  solidly  on  the  roof  of 
the  cathedral,  as  though  a  thousand  walls  had  been  bat- 
tered down  at  one  blow.  With  one  despairing  outcry 
of  wild  brute  fear  the  masses  rushed  headlong  through 
the  portals  in  a  struggling,  shrieking,  sweltering  swarm, 
until  no  one  remained  in  the  gloomy,  lightning-illuminated 
nave  save  Manfred  and  his  queen,  who  found  themselves 
face  to  face  with  Ottorino  Visconti. 

"  Courage,  King  Manfred,  courage !  The  pillars  of 
the  Ghibelline  state  still  stand  and  the  hearts  of  thy  loyal 
subjects,  who  worship  the  son  of  their  great  emperor, 
cannot  be  turned  at  the  wink  of  a  fanatic  monk !  " 

Manfred  raised  his  right  hand  with  a  gesture  of  de- 
spair. 

"  Where  are  they  ?  Swept  away,  —  as  if  they  had 
never  been  I " 


3s6  Castel  t>cl  /iDonte 

"  They  will  return,  King  Manfred.  The  thunder  of 
the  anathema  has  benumbed  their  senses,  —  give  them 
but  time  and  they  will  vindicate  themselves  gloriously. 
Drive  the  sombre  shadows  from  thy  brow,  O  king !  Thou 
alone  art  their  rightful  sovereign,  and  victory  will  crown 
our  arms ! " 

"  I  thank  thee,  Visconti,"  Manfred  replied,  extending 
both  hands  to  Ottorino.  "  Thou  wert  kind  to  think  of  us, 
sorely  distressed  as  thou  art." 

"  I  searched  every  sanctuary ;  thy  kindness.  King 
Manfred,  opened  every  convent,  gave  me  access  into 
every  cloister;  I  spared  neither  bribes  nor  threats.  If 
the  lady  of  Miraval  lives,  only  He  who  looks  through 
prison  walls  may  know  her  place  of  concealment.  Yet, 
—  what  is  this  trial  compared  with  the  calamity  of  this 
hour ! " 

"  We  cannot  escape  our  fate !  Perchance  thou  wilt 
find  the  woman  of  thy  heart  when  we  touch  upon  Apulian 
soil." 

"  I  fear.  King  Manfred,  an  oracle  speaks  in  thy  words ! 
When  shall  we  start  ?  " 

"With  the  earliest.  The  fleet  lies  anchored  at  Man- 
fredonia.  The  Saracens  will  cross  to  the  mainland  at 
once.  We  must  crush  the  pontiff  ere  he  can  marshal  his 
black  hosts  against  us !  I  fear  some  foul  play  has  been 
wrought  on  Count  Cenci  —  and  thus  have  our  dreams  of 
tranquil  peace  been  shattered !  But  thou,  Visconti,  — 
when  are  we  to  meet  again  ?  " 

"  I  have  cast  my  lot  with  thine.  King  Manfred,  —  here 
is  my  hand !  " 

Helena  of  Epirus  spoke  not,  for  the  anguish  welling 
up  from  her  heart,  with  the  memory  of  the  Dominican's 
terrible  curse,  choked  her  utterance.  Without  the  tempest 
raged  with  unabated  fury,  and  incessant  lightnings  seemed 


Ubc  Bicommunication  3S7 

to  wrap  earth  and  sky.  The  tramp  of  mailed  feet  re- 
sounded from  the  portals,  and  a  moment  later  the  Duke 
of  Altamura,  John  of  Alife,  and  Reinald  Aquino,  Count 
of  Caserta,  strode  toward  the  royal  couple,  closely  fol- 
lowed by  the  brothers  Lancia,  Capece,  and  John  of  Pro- 
cida,  whose  mien  betrayed  no  feigned  anxiety. 

"  We  come  from  the  palace,  King  Manfred,"  the  latter 
exclaimed,  rushing  up  to  where  Manfred  stood,  "  think- 
ing that  you  had  thither  preceded  our  anxiety." 

The  king  bowed;    a  smile  hovered  on  his  lips. 

"  My  lords,  we  thank  you  for  your  loyalty.  Any  tid- 
ings of  import  ?  " 

"  Charles  of  Anjou  has  arrived  at  Rome,"  replied  the 
Duke  of  Altamura.  "  The  Romans  have  proclaimed  him 
senator,  and  Clement  himself  has  decorated  the  Provengal 
banners  with  the  cross,  which  is  to  mark  the  war  of 
extermination  'gainst  the  Ghibellines  of  the  South." 

There  was  a  deep  hush,  broken  but  by  a  half-suppressed 
sob,  as  Helena  of  Epirus  clung  almost  hysterically  to  the 
man  of  her  love  and  choice. 

"  Away ! "  Manfred  replied,  raising  himself  to  his 
full  height.  "  We  temporize  no  longer !  We  count  on 
your  loyalty,  my  lords,  in  this  hour  of  darkest  gloom 
which  has  spread  itself  over  the  crown  of  Hohenstaufen, 
and  bid  you  to  our  palace,  there  to  receive  your  final 
orders ! " 

"  We  will  be  true  to  the  king's  Majesty  —  to  the  last," 
Caserta  replied,  bending  low,  then,  preceded  by  the  king 
and  queen,  the  whole  company  hastened  toward  the  por- 
tals of  the  cathedral.  The  storm  had  subsided  with  a 
rapidity  peculiar  to  the  South.  The  sun  burned  through 
a  broad  chasm  in  the  cloudbank,  and  a  pleasant  breath 
of  flowery  perfume  lingered  on  the  purified  air.    Like  one 


358  Castcl  bel  /Contc 

roused  from  a  frightful  dream  Manfred  stared  across  the 
deserted  piazza. 

"  One  last  glance  at  the  glorious  edifice  wherein  our 
imperial  father  sleeps  toward  the  day  of  resurrection; 
may  he  intercede  for  us  at  the  throne  of  the  Almighty! 
Ah,  why  were  we  to  be  deprived  of  a  parting  benediction 
from  our  venerable  friend,  the  archbishop  ?  With  lighter 
hearts  had  we  departed  from  these  dearly  beloved  shores." 

They  were  slowly  traversing  the  piazza  when  John 
of  Procida  replied  in  answer  to  the  king's  query,  spoken 
rather  in  soliloquy  than  in  anticipation  of  a  response : 

"  The  Archbishop  of  Palermo  died  suddenly  before 
the  hour  set  for  the  coronation." 


BOOK   THE   THIRD 


••  SeH  pastor  di  Cosenza,  cK'alla  caccia 
Di  me  fu  messo  per  Clemen te,  allora 
Avesse  in  Dio  ben  letta  questa  faccia^ 
Uossa  del  corpo  tnio  sarieno  ancora 
In  CO  del  ponte  presso  a  Benevento, 
Sotto  la  guardia  della  grave  mora." 

—  Dante,  Purgatorio,  Canto  III.,  124.-129. 


CHAPTER   I. 


CASTEL  DEL   MONTE 


Upon  a  solitary  conical  hill  rising  above  the  long  chain 
of  the  Murgie  and  overlooking  the  maritime  part  of 
the  provinces  of  Basilicata  and  Capitanata  stands  Castel 
del  Monte,  the  great  Hohenstaufen  castle  of  Emperor 
Frederick  the  Second.  Stretching  northward  to  Monte 
Gargano  and  Foggia  dream  the  plains  of  sunny  Apulia. 
Terra  di  Bari  and  Terra  di  Otranto  fade  into  the  horizon 
to  southward,  and  the  blue  waves  of  the  Adriatic  from 
Barletta  to  Brindisi  form  the  boundary  to  eastward. 

The  wide  Apulian  plains  dreamed  deserted  in  the 
glow  of  the  westering  sun,  when  a  cavalcade  of  horse- 
men swiftly  approached  Castel  del  Monte  on  the  road 
leading  from  Trani  to  Corato.  The  monotony  of  the 
green,  undulating  expanse,  stretching  from  Andria  to 
the  banks  of  the  Garigliano,  was  only  now  and  then 
broken  by  an  octagon  watch-tower,  a  white  stone  wall,  or 
queer  looking  circular  huts,  resembling  tombs.  They 
were  crowned  with  a  rough  cross,  and  scattered  over 
plain  and  morass,  beyond  which  the  river  gleamed  at 
intervals  through  rank  verdure  and  stagnant  marshes. 

At  the  base  of  a  hill  which  offered  shelter  against  the 
otherwise  unconfined  gaze  across  the  plains,  the  troop 
of  horsemen  halted,  while  their  leader  scanned  the  inter- 
vening space  which  lay  between  them  and  the  imperial 
castle. 

361 


362  Castel  bel  n>onte 

"  Yonder  it  lies,"  said  the  foremost  of  the  company, 
checking  his  steed  and  pointing  to  the  summit  of  the 
craggy  eminence,  the  pinnacles  of  which  shone  golden 
in  the  fast  waning  light  of  day. 

John  of  Alife  had  risen  in  his  stirrups,  craning  his 
neck  toward  the  point  indicated  by  his  companion. 

"  We  cannot  approach  unseen  over  the  plains,"  contin- 
ued the  speaker,  in  whom  we  recognize  the  Duke  of 
Altamura,  as,  shading  his  eyes,  his  gaze  swept  the  broad, 
undulating  expanse,  the  horizon  of  which  was  bounded 
only  by  the  towering  heights  of  far-off  Soracte,  rearing 
its  frosted  silver  pinnacles  into  the  ever-deepening  purple 
dusk. 

"  This  mole-hill  will  screen  us  from  sight  till  the  sun 
has  gone  down,"  the  chancellor  replied.  "  Our  horses' 
hoofs  will  not  be  heard  in  the  grass." 

"  We  must  wait !  Daylight  is  fading  fast  and  Crivello's 
eyes  are  sharp." 

Dusk  had  no  sooner  fallen  than  the  Duke  of  Altamura 
g^ve  the  command  to  continue  the  advance,  and  silently 
the  cavalcade  cantered  onward. 

John  of  Alife  talked  incessantly  to  his  companion,  as  if 
to  allay  or  to  veil  his  own  misgivings,  for  as  yet  the 
duke  had  not  intimated  to  him  the  purpose  of  this  sin- 
gular expedition,  though  he  had  most  strenuously  insisted 
upon  his  society. 

"  For  once  our  shrewd  and  stalwart  castellan  shall  find 
himself  trapped  in  his  own  wiles,"  Altamura  at  length 
remarked,  during  a  lull  in  their  conversation.  "Verily 
he  is  playing  his  role  so  well  that  he  believes  in  it  himself ! 
But  I  will  be  convinced  of  his  treachery  ere  I  deprive 
myself  of  so  valuable  a  minister.  The  affair  at  Lucera 
is  plausible,  —  and  Crivello  hath  ambition !  " 

John  of  Alife  shrugged  his  shoulders. 


Castel  ^el  A)onte  363 

"Thou  canst  not  bribe  the  Moslem,  duke,  —  thy  gold 
buys  but  Apulians !  " 

"  Ay !  'Twas  less  a  point  of  bribe  than  strategy !  John 
the  Moor  had  agreed  to  close  the  gates  of  the  city  against 
the  king;  his  Saracens  were  to  rise  in  revolt;  with  Lu- 
cera  lost  to  the  cause,  rebellion  flaming  from  every  ham- 
let, —  the  downfall  of  the  dynasty  was  but  a  question  of 
hours." 

"  Yet,  —  how  different  it  befell,"  mused  the  chancellor, 
as  if  soliloquizing.  "  Manfred's  march  was  one  of  con- 
tinued triumph.  Aware  of  the  risk  at  stake,  the  king 
rested  neither  day  nor  night,  and  the  brothers  Capece, 
knowing  the  country,  led  the  way  by  mountain  paths 
more  fit  for  goats  than  horses,  avoiding  Avellino,  the 
Hohenburg's  stronghold.  It  was  sunset  when  we  reached 
the  castle  of  Atropaldo.  Without  consuming  more  time 
than  scanty  refreshments  required,  we  continued  in  forced 
marches  to  Nusco,  in  the  territories  of  Acerra ;  thence  to 
Lavello  and  Venosa,  and  everywhere  the  king  was  re- 
ceived with  great  demonstrations  of  joy  and  affection. 
Thence  we  lost  ourselves  in  the  wilds  of  the  Murgie, 
where  in  the  Stygian  darkness  of  a  starless  night,  during 
a  violent  storm  of  rain,  our  small  band  almost  lost  its 
way.  By  good  luck  we  met  a  huntsman  who  had  been 
in  the  service  of  the  late  emperor.  He  conducted  us  to  a 
little  hunting-box,  St.  Agapito,  in  the  woods  of  Incor- 
onata,  which  offered  shelter  from  the  tempest  and  where 
we  could  dry  our  drenched  clothes  at  a  large  fire,  which 
Adenolfo  Pardo,  the  huntsman,  insisted  on  lighting,  to 
welcome  his  prince." 

Altamura  made  a  gesture  of  disdain. 

"  May  the  foul  fiend  light  a  fire  under  him  in  return ! 
But  what  of  Lucera?  I  long  to  hear  the  tale  that  has 
mocked  my  ears  like  voices  of  the  fiend." 


3^4  Castel  ^el  /iDonte 

"  It  was  on  the  following  morning,"  the  hunchback, 
hoarsely  croaking,  continued.  "  We  swiftly  approached 
the  Saracen  city,  riding  closely  under  her  walls.  Man- 
fred took  off  his  helmet,  that  the  Moslems  might  see  his 
face  and  his  fair  hair ! " 

The  chancellor  paused  for  a  moment  with  a  sneer, 
such  as  a  vampire  might  have  given. 

"But  John  the  Moor?"  the  duke  exclaimed,  impa- 
tiently. 

"  From  the  turrets  in  response  to  the  king's  demand 
for  admission  there  came  the  answer  that  the  command- 
ant was  absent,  having  left  strict  orders  to  admit  no 
one  into  the  city,  Manfred  remonstrated  with  the 
archers  of  the  watch,  and  no  sooner  had  they  recog- 
nized the  son  of  their  beloved  emperor  than  they  en- 
deavoured to  induce  Marchisio,  second  in  command,  to 
give  up  the  keys.  This  he  refused  to  do,  and  the  king 
was  on  the  point  of  entering  his  city  through  a  drain 
when  the  Saracens  made  a  rush,  burst  open  the  gates, 
seized  Manfred  in  their  arms,  and  conducted  him  in 
triumph  into  the  fortress." 

"But  John  the  Moor?" 

"  Ay !  He  was  sorely  ignorant  of  what  had  transpired 
at  the  gates,  for  Marchisio  had  been  bound.  Sitting  in 
state  in  the  council-chamber,  surrounded  by  his  chief 
eunuchs  and  emirs,  he  read  to  them  Charles  of  Anjou's 
and  the  pontiff's  promise  of  protection  and  reward,  if 
they  captured  and  delivered  into  their  hands  the  usurper, 
as  they  styled  the  king.  By  his  side  sat  thy  Catalan,  but 
his  Christian  spirit  seemed  sorely  vexed,  for  his  visage 
bore  a  gloom,  savouring  little  of  the  blessed.  Then  John 
the  Moor  proposed  an  auction  for  Manfred's  head,  and 
lively  enough  the  bids  were  going,  when  in  stepped  a 
strange  knight,  his  dark  cloak  drawn  over  his  visage.  He, 


Castel  t)el  /iDonte  3^5 

witnessing  the  last  bid,  quickly  advanced,  and,  striking 
the  floor  with  the  point  of  his  sabre,  exclaimed :  *  What ! 
A  lousy  hundred  florins  for  the  head  of  so  great  a  king? 
Ten  thousand  florins  I  bid,  hear  ye,  hungry  knaves  ?  Ten 
thousand  florins,  full  weight ! '  *  Whoever  thou  mayest 
be,'  says  John  the  Moor,  rising,  '  thou  art  a  noble  knight, 
and  here  is  my  hand.'  *  Thou  art  quite  right  concerning 
my  quality,'  the  knight  declared,  grasping  the  proflfered 
hand,  while  he  dropped  the  cloak  from  his  face,  '  for  I 
am  Manfred,  thy  king  and  judge!  Seize  the  traitor  and 
suspend  him  from  the  battlements  in  plain  view  of  the 
whole  city,  that  in  death  at  least  he  may  enjoy  the  lofty 
station  he  coveted  in  life ! '  And  thus  high  perched,  John 
the  Moor,  thy  friend  and  ally,  ended  his  brilliant  career," 
the  chancellor  concluded,  with  an  ill-concealed  sneer. 

A  withering  glance  of  scorn  flashed  from  Altamura's 
eyes. 

"  Then  Malerizi  was  not  warned,  —  or  the  warning 
reached  the  one  it  was  least  intended  for." 

"  The  warning  reached  the  king." 

"  But  how  ?    Through  whom  ?  " 

"  Whether  by  design  or  accident,  —  thou  knowest  best ! 
Crivello  was  sent  to  Castel  del  Monte  as  reward  for  some 
dark  deed  we  have  not  fathomed  yet." 

"  Crivello  a  traitor  ?  What  hath  he  to  gain  thereby  ? 
Can  his  lot  be  more  splendid  as  subject  of  the  king  than 
as  follower  of  mine?  Have  I  not  given  him  license  to 
cut  and  slash  to  his  heart's  content,  without  even  asking 
an  account  thereof?  Have  I  not  with  lavish  hands  piled 
riches  and  plunder  upon  him,  and  even  allowed  him  to 
confess  part  of  his  sins  once  a  year  on  Good  Friday? 
What  more  can  he  want  ?  " 

"  Perchance  he  aspires  to  a  loftier  title ;   perchance  he 


366  Castel  C)el  /iDontc 

tires  of  coupling  his  fortunes  with  the  sinking  star  of 
Altamura." 

"  Sinking  star !  Not  thus  spoke  the  wizard,  who 
promised  me  the  crown  of  Italy!  Onward,  —  ever  on- 
ward, —  rising  until  in  its  mad  career  it  casts  the  stars 
from  the  firmament  and  envelops  nature  in  chaotic  dark- 
ness that  shall  know  no  light  save  what  emanates  from 
myself,  —  for  this  I  dreamed  in  the  days  of  my  boy- 
hood." 

"  And  yet  your  Highness's  dreams  may  be  doomed  to 
pass  into  nothingness,  —  or  have  you  not  heard  of  the 
destruction  of  the  entire  Provengal  fleet?  Who  warned 
Drogo,  the  high  admiral?  There  is  scarce  a  craft  left, 
and  the  men  drowned  like  rats." 

"  It  was  the  storm." 

"  It  was  fate,  —  dark,  inscrutable  fate !  No  nobler 
fleet  ever  sailed  from  the  ports  of  France.  There  is  a 
dark  power  at  work,  —  treason,  perchance,  in  our  own 
ranks,  like  a  poisonous  spider,  spreading  its  net  around 
us!  We  must  destroy  the  centre  of  the  web  ere  we  are 
drawn  within  its  fateful  meshes." 

"  My  plans  are  laid,"  the  duke  replied,  after  a  brief 
pause,  during  which  the  cavalcade  was  swiftly  approach- 
ing the  castle.  "  Didst  thou  not  insinuate  that  Crivello 
is  carrying  on  a  traitorous  correspondence  with  the  king 
by  means  of  carrier-pigeons,  keeping  him  informed  of  all 
that  happens  ? " 

"  Nay,  —  not  with  the  king,"  the  hunchback  sneered, 
while  he  gave  his  gaunt  neck  a  twist  to  ascertain  that 
their  retinue  was  not  sufficiently  near  to  overhear  their 
discourse,  "  nay,  not  with  the  king,  —  with  a  certain  nun." 

The  duke  started  up  as  if  a  viper  had  stung  him,  while 
his  hand  clutched  the  hilt  of  his  poniard. 


Castel  t)el  A>onte  367 

"  By  the  fiend,  repeat  thy  speech !  The  sound  tickles 
our  ear ! " 

"  I  said  not  that  his  messages  are  of  tender  import,  — 
the  lady  is  too  fastidious  for  fickleness." 

"  We  require  no  oracles,  —  the  proofs,  —  the  proofs !  " 

"  Yonder  at  Castel  del  Monte  thy  Catalan  sits  in  state. 
If  thou  art  eager  for  the  proofs  the  hour  will  fetch  them !  " 

"  That  it  shall,  ere  another  night  has  gone !  The  king 
is  to  be  at  Castel  del  Monte  to-morrow  at  sundown !  I 
will  despatch  a  messenger  to  the  Catalan,  purporting  to 
come  from  Sidi  Yussuff,  who  shall  say  that  I,  the  duke, 
demand  admittance  into  San  Germano,  but  the  emir  not 
only  refuses  this  permission,  but  craves  my  immediate 
recall,  else,  since  justice  be  denied  him,  he  will  take  it 
at  his  own  hands.  Now  if  Crivello  be  the  traitor  thou 
wouldst  have  me  believe  him,  he  will  forthwith  despatch 
his  pigeons,  clutching  at  the  opportunity  of  tripping  his 
enemy.  The  warden  is  a  creature  of  mine,  and  will 
privily  admit  me  without  the  usual  alarums.  At  early 
dawn  I  shall  sit  in  the  tower  of  the  winds  with  my  good 
falcon  Gorebec,  who  never  failed  me,  and  whom  luckily 
I  thought  of  taking  into  the  field." 

The  duke  glanced  over  his  shoulder,  beckoning  to  his 
side  a  horseman  in  the  dark  green  habit  of  a  falconer, 
who  rode  a  short  distance  away  between  two  men-at-arms. 

"  Hast  thou  kept  my  falcon  well  fed  ?  "  he  asked,  while 
stroking  the  bird's  head,  after  he  had  removed  the  cap, 
which  he  immediately  readjusted. 

"  He  is  well  in  flesh,  your  Grace,"  answered  the  fal- 
coner. 

"  We  shall  soon  require  a  feat  of  him ;  until  then,  see 
that  nothing  ruffles  his  temper.  Send  Scrivezzo  to  me, 
—  I  would  have  speech  with  him." 

The  individual  cited  appeared  at  once  by  the  duke's 


368  Castel  t)el  /iDontc 

side,  and  now  they  continued  their  advance,  while  the 
chancellor,  crafty  as  he  was,  regarded  the  duke  with  a 
mixture  of  wonder  and  approbation,  for  his  subtle  and 
strange  device  was  altogether  too  much  to  his  own  liking 
for  him  to  offer  objections,  even  had  he  entertained  them." 
In  subdued  tones  Altamura  confided  to  the  bravo  the 
part  he  was  to  perform  in  the  impending  drama. 

At  last  they  reached  Castel  del  Monte,  as  the  moon  was 
rising  above  the  eastern  hills.  The  duke  guided  his 
companions  to  a  postern  gate,  where  his  subdued  knocks 
were  answered  by  a  swarthy  Calabrian,  whose  counte- 
nance would  have  served  as  ready  passport  of  admission 
into  the  renowned  band  of  Ghino  di  Tacco's  bravi.  After 
a  mute  greeting,  a  silent  nod  from  the  warden  admitted 
the  company  into  the  castle,  while  at  the  same  time  Scri- 
vezzo,  with  many  loud  and  boisterous  protestations,  de- 
manded admission  at  the  main  gates,  which,  when  opened, 
brought  him  face  to  face  with  some  six  or  eight  men-at- 
arms,  of  whom  he  requested  an  immediate  interview  with 
the  castellan. 

The  practised  features  of  the  Catalan,  which  the  arrival 
of  a  special  messenger,  whose  purpose  he  knew  not,  had 
slightly  disturbed,  resumed  their  equanimity  during  the 
men-at-arms'  oration,  but  when  he  delivered  to  him  the 
pretended  message,  their  habitual  gloom  returned.  The 
Catalan's  eye  fell  with  searching  suspicion  and  uneasi- 
ness on  the  crafty  features  of  the  messenger,  whose  dis- 
like for  his  person  was  probably  guessed  by  him,  and 
when  the  latter,  after  having  delivered  himself  of  his 
commission,  asked  leave  to  depart,  as  the  goal  of  his 
journey  lay  distant,  the  castellan  denied  his  request. 

"The  road  thou  speakest  of,"  he  said,  "lies  through 
fen  and  forest  and  wastes ;  thy  horse  is  spent  and  so  are 
those  of  thy  men;   moreover,  I  have  no  warrant  to  per- 


Castel  bcl  Obontc  3^9 

mit  any  one  who  enters  the  castle  to  leave  it.  Therefore 
I  most  humbly  beseech  thee  to  take  up  thy  lodging  with 
me  until  I  can  obtain  the  proper  command." 

"  Proper  command  !  "  remonstrated  Scrivezzo.  "  Mean 
"you  that  you  will  force  me  to  delay  on  my  road,  bearing, 
as  I  do,  a  message  from  the  great  emir  ?  " 

"  I  must  do  my  duty,"  replied  the  Catalan,  with  a  look 
of  much  significance,  "  and  the  time  is  not  far  when  thou 
wilt  more  fully  understand  my  motives ! " 

Ere  Scrivezzo  could  offer  remonstrance,  two  Catalans 
who  had  been  waiting  the  signal  from  their  leader  seized 
the  disguised  envoy  and  hurried  him  from  the  apartment 
across  a  gallery,  whence  they  descended  by  a  dark  wind- 
ing stairway  to  a  chamber  barred  and  grated,  which  he 
was  to  inhabit  for  the  night.  It  was  on  the  following 
morning  that  the  castellan  ordered  those  of  his  Catalans 
who  ranked  foremost  in  his  esteem  to  join  him  in  his 
morning  repast,  and  Scrivezzo,  who  had  been  sent  for  to 
share  therein,  made  the  best  of  the  company  which  was 
thrust  upon  him.  The  viands  spread  before  them  looked 
inviting  enough  to  have  silenced  even  more  serious 
scruples  than  those  entertained  by  the  bravo's  empty 
stomach.  While  carefully  scanning  the  apartment,  he 
pretended  to  be  deeply  interested  in  the  conversation  of 
the  castellan's  men. 

Waiting  the  arrival  of  their  commandant,  the  company 
had  seated  themselves  around  the  plentiful  board  of  their 
host.  Wild  boar,  roasted  whole,  haunches  of  venison, 
and  roasted  crane  composed  the  chief  viands,  while  sev- 
eral beakers  of  choice  red  wine  served  to  loosen  the 
tongues,  and  nothing  was  wanting  save  the  presence  of 
the  host  himself,  who,  as  Santuzzo,  one  of  his  subor- 
dinates, stated,  had  retired  to  dictate  some  despatches. 
Scrivezzo  gazed  in  a  rather  hungry  way  at  the  table, 


37°  Castcl  ^cl  /iDontc 

thence  with  a  sigh  at  the  window,  where  his  attention 
was  forthwith  caught  by  a  pigeon  with  something  white 
tied  around  its  neck  starting  from  the  tower  across. 

The  bird  flew  at  first  in  a  straight  and  steady  Hne  to 
southward,  but  suddenly  it  whirled  around,  panting  rather 
than  flying  with  its  wings,  and  dived  down  to  the  lake. 
Scrivezzo's  curiosity  was  excited,  and,  gazing  upward, 
it  was  some  moments  ere  he  discovered  a  hawk  so  high 
in  the  air  that  it  looked  like  little  more  than  a  black  spot. 
But  it  was  descending  in  its  fatal  gyrations,  and,  as  if 
aware  of  an  inevitable  doom,  the  pigeon,  after  a  few  vain 
flutterings,  made  a  last  despairing  soar.  But  soon  the 
rapacious  claws  were  in  its  back  and  the  ruthless  beak  in 
its  brain. 

Scrivezzo  had  no  time  to  note  what  further  befell  the 
luckless  bird,  for  at  this  moment  the  much  desired  host, 
Don  Crivello,  made  his  appearance.  He  entered  with  so 
much  agitation  and  anger  visible  on  his  countenance,  that 
the  disguised  bravo's  alarms  were  all  renewed. 

"  Who  is  it  that  presumes  to  fly  a  hawk  without  my 
permission  ?  "  the  Catalan  asked  fiercely  of  Santuzzo.  "  I 
have  just  lost  one  of  my  best  carrier-pigeons,  which  was 
seized  by  a  hawk  launched  from  yonder  tower,  and  the 
letter  I  aimed  to  despatch  by  it  is  probably  lost." 

"  It  is  Ugolino,  the  under-falconer.  I  have  warned  him 
many  a  time  that  he  displeases  your  lordship  with  his 
untimely  pranks,"  replied  the  individual  spoken  to,  bow- 
ing low  in  deference  to  his  chief.  "  But  the  hawks  are 
too  well  trained  to  have  eaten  the  pigeon,  therefore  un- 
doubtedly the  letter  is  safe." 

"  Go  and  bring  the  rogue  this  instant  before  me,  and 
by  St.  Anthony,  if  the  seal  is  but  breathed  upon,  I  will 
have  him  sawed  in  twain  as  a  warning  to  all  such  insolent, 
meddling  villains  who  keep  no  discipline,"  exclaimed  the 


Castel  &el  jflDonte  37* 

castellan,  whose  agitation  was  so  extreme  that  Scrivezzo 
inwardly  smiled. 

Santuzzo  departed,  apparently  with  very  good-will,  on 
his  errand,  and,  striving  to  resume  his  equanimity,  Cri- 
vello  took  his  accustomed  seat  at  the  table.  Some  time 
elapsed,  and  though  the  Catalan  continued  greatly  dis- 
turbed, his  subordinates  did  ample  justice  to  the  repast. 
The  crane  had  not  been  assailed  yet  when  Santuzzo  re- 
appeared. His  naturally  insidious  and  at  the  same  time 
ferocious  countenance  displayed  its  characteristics  now 
so  legibly  that  a  child  could  not  have  mistaken  them. 
He  held  in  his  hand  an  open  letter,  which  he  presented 
to  Crivello. 

"  Senor,  it  was  not  the  under-falconer,  as  I  imagined," 
he  said,  with  a  satanic  leer,  "  but  a  fellow  who  came  lately 
into  the  castle,  and  who  has  dared  to  amuse  himself  with 
flying  the  king's  hawks.  Him  I  surprised  perusing  your 
letter  to  a  certain  high-born  lady." 

"  Certain  high-born  lady  ?  Thou  canst  not  —  thou  hast 
not  —  read  it,  too  ?  "  stammered  Crivello,  turning  deadly 
pale,  as  he  stretched  forth  his  hand  to  take  the  epistle. 

"  Your  lordship  knows  I  am  as  great  a  fool  about 
monkish  learning  as  a  monk  were  about  soldiery,"  replied 
Santuzzo,  turning  the  letter  in  his  hand  like  one  who 
holds  some  uncommon  instrument,  the  use  of  which  he 
knows  not. 

"  True,  —  so  thou  hast  often  said,"  observed  Crivello, 
breathing  hard,  as  if  relieved  from  a  weight  on  his  chest. 
"  But  did  not  this  prying  villain  read  it  to  thee  ?  " 

"  By  the  rood,  —  I  gave  him  no  time,"  replied  the 
Calabrian. 

"  How,  my  most  excellent  and  faithful  Santuzzo,  thou 
didst  not  in  thy  passion  at  his  insolence  strike  thy  dagger 
into  him  ?  "  exclaimed  Crivello,  hurriedly. 


37*  Castel  t>c\  /iDonte 

"  I  caused  him  to  be  instantly  seized,  but  I  thought  it 
behooved  me  rather  not  to  forego  your  lordship's  judg- 
ment," said  Santuzzo. 

"  Where  have  you  left  him?  In  whose  company?  Take 
him  at  once  to  the  nearest  tree,"  said  the  castellan,  with 
increasing  agitation.  "  Doubtlessly  he  is  some  Provengal 
spy,  —  else  wherefore  should  he  read  my  letter  ?  " 

"  My  lord,  he  is  a  free  man,  and  we  are  in  the  king's 
domains!  As  such  he  must  be  fairly  adjudged  ere  he 
can  be  put  to  death,"  replied  the  malicious  warden, 
secretly  enjoying  his  superior's  confusion. 

"Think  you  so?  Free  man,  —  fairly  adjudged?  We 
will  make  short  work  of  him.  In  the  king's  absence  we 
sit  in  his  stead!  Bring  him  hither  gagged,  and  I  will 
adjudge  him  fast  enough,"  Crivello  concluded,  fiercely. 

"  He  is  even  now  waiting  at  the  door ;  your  lordship 
need  not  delay  your  repast,"  said  Santuzzo,  stepping 
eagerly  to  the  portal,  which  he  threw  wide  open.  The  bur- 
nished casques  and  spears  of  the  duke's  men-at-arms  met 
the  startled  gaze  of  the  banqueters,  as  they  filed  into  the 
chamber  in  rapid  succession,  while  from  the  centre  of 
their  opening  ranks,  with  rapid  and  fiery  step,  his  eyes 
blazing  with  wrath,  his  fine  nostrils  quivering,  his  cheeks 
pale  with  concentrated  passion,  strode  Ferrando,  Duke 
of  Altamura, 

The  suddenness  of  his  entry,  his  disordered  locks  wav- 
ing like  black  serpents  beneath  his  scarlet  hermelin  cap, 
which  contrasted  strangely  with  his  sombre  garb  of  sable 
velvet,  might  have  struck  terror  into  men  who  had  less 
reason  to  dread  his  wrath.  As  it  was,  Crivello  stood 
fixed  and  pallid  as  stone,  but  his  Catalans  started  up, 
uncertain  where  to  turn  in  the  unforeseen  dilemma,  while 
several  murmured  an  exorcism  to  the  fiend. 

"  Ha,  Crivello,  you  are  then  resolved  to  send  me  to  the 


Castel  &el  /iDontc  373 

gibbet  for  my  impudent  interference!  What,  then,  does 
treason  merit?  "  thundered  the  terrific  master.  And,  turn- 
ing with  the  most  courtly  and  blandishing  irony  to  the 
company  of  Catalans,  he  added :  "  Pray  be  not  disturbed, 
good  and  honest  gentlemen,  for  we  are  so  well  assured 
of  your  loyalty  that  we  even  presume  to  ask  you  to  assist 
us  in  pronouncing  what  judgment  befits  this  ungrateful 
traitor,  who,  not  content  with  fanning  into  flames  more 
furious  the  war  which  is  upon  us,  desires  to  blacken  our 
good  name  with  foulest  insinuations,  to  array  even  the 
king  against  us,  his  most  faithful  and  loyal  servitor,  and 
to  sow  suspicion  between  ruler  and  subject." 

As  he  spoke  the  duke  snatched  the  paper  from  the  pas- 
sive hand  of  Crivello,  and  read  aloud  passages  from  the 
intercepted  letter  to  his  no  less  patient  auditors. 

And  Crivello  had  indeed  been  inspired  by  an  evil 
genius  when  he  penned  this  epistle.  Stung  almost  to 
madness  by  the  deadly  insult  offered  to  him  by  the  duke 
during  the  assault  on  the  Torre  del  Diavolo,  he  had  care- 
fully screened  his  feelings  from  his  master,  vowing  in- 
wardly a  vengeance  as  black  as  the  duke's  sins,  with  which 
he  was  so  well  acquainted,  merited  in  his  estimation. 
After  having  foiled  one  after  another  of  the  duke's  de- 
signs by  timely  information  to  those  in  position  to  pre- 
vent their  execution,  the  Catalan  had  now  penned  a  letter 
to  Francesca,  whose  abode  since  that  eventful  night  had 
been  unknown  to  the  duke.  In  this  letter  Crivello  advised 
the  lady  to  warn  the  king  of  the  dissatisfaction  among 
the  Saracens  of  San  Germano,  owing  to  the  proximity 
of  the  Duke  of  Altamura,  and  suggesting  the  immediate 
recall  of  him  who  was  more  rapacious  than  a  harpy,  more 
cruel  than  a  tiger,  more  insidious  than  a  viper;  further 
to  advise  the  king  to  secure  the  person  of  a  certain  sor- 
cerer who  had  assisted  the  duke  in  his  fiendish  devices, 


374  Castcl  Del  jflDonte 

and  who  even  blasphemously  pretended  to  foretell  the 
future. 

The  duke  paused  for  a  brief  space  of  time,  as  if 
musing  over  the  double  meaning  of  the  last  sentence, 
then  he  turned  with  a  terrible  laugh  to  the  men-at- 
arms  in  the  chamber,  who  had  listened  in  breathless 
dismay. 

"  Now,  senors,  if  all  this  be  true,  deem  you  that  so 
great  a  sorcerer  ought  to  be  mistaken?  You  have  all 
heard  the  contents  of  this  letter,  and  a  noble  answer  I  can 
give  you  to  its  treason  and  calumny!  Are  you  not  here 
in  my  presence,  in  my  power,  —  one  and  all,  —  here  in 
this  strong  castle,  surrounded  by  my  soldiery?  Yet  I 
offer  you  all  a  friendly  welcome,  safe  lodging,  good  cheer, 
and  to-morrow  at  dusk  we  will  continue  our  march 
toward  Capua,  where  you  shall  share  in  honour  alike 
and  profit  if  our  first  stroke  against  Anjou  prove  suc- 
cessful. But  why  keep  we  our  honoured  company  stand- 
ing ?    Seize  yon  traitor  and  away  with  him !  " 

For  a  moment  Crivello's  courage  gave  way  before  the 
duke's  dreaded  visage. 

"  Mercy,  —  my  lord,  my  master,  —  mercy !  "  he  yelled, 
prostrating  himself  before  his  relentless  judge. 

"  Mercy,  thou  merciless  traitor  ?  Hast  thou  ever  shown 
mercy  to  thy  countless  victims  whom  thou  hast  sent  to 
await  thee  in  the  darkness  whither  thou  goest  ?  "  replied 
the  duke,  spurning  the  wretched  culprit  with  his  foot  as 
he  endeavoured  to  clasp  his  knees. 

At  this  juncture  Santuzzo  darted  forward  and  seized 
the  Catalan  by  the  doublet,  while  his  eyes  rested  ques- 
tioningly  on  the  duke. 

"  I  would  humbly  propose,  my  lord,"  he  said,  with  his 
Satanic  leer,  "  that  the  death  of  hanging  be  spared  to  him 


Castel  C)el  /»onte  375 

as  concession  for  the  services  he  has  rendered  your  Grace 
in  the  past." 

The  duke  cast  a  quick  glance  at  the  castellan's  inter- 
cessor. 

"  So  let  it  be !  I  am  always  happy  to  oblige  my  friends. 
Let  him  be  taken  to  the  top  of  the  tower  and  precipitated 
through  the  trap-door.  And  when  you  have  done  with 
him,  saw  me  his  carcass  in  twain  and  set  it  up  like  a 
shark's  jaw  on  the  bastion  to  let  people  know  I  loved  not 
nor  approved  his  cruelties." 

At  this  terrible  sentence  all  vestige  of  sense  deserted 
the  wretched  instrument  of  the  duke's  guiles  and  in- 
trigues. He  reeled,  but,  suddenly  recovering  himself,  he 
rushed  with  the  ferocity  of  a  wild  beast  upon  the  duke, 
who  but  for  his  watchfulness  and  great  agility  might 
have  paid  the  forfeit  of  his  judgment.  Crivello's  steel 
was  met  by  a  dozen  blades  which  flashed  from  their 
scabbards,  even  his  own  men  turning  upon  him,  and  it 
was  apparent  that  the  fated  castellan  was  fighting  not 
for  victory,  but  for  a  less  cruel  mode  of  death. 

"  I  will  give  thee  one  chance  to  die  at  least  as  a  man- 
at-arms,"  the  duke  thundered,  amid  the  clash  of  steel  and 
the  wild  oaths  which  accompanied  each  thrust  and  parry. 
The  men-at-arms  lowered  their  weapons,  while  narrowly 
watching  their  doomed  victim,  who,  as  yet  unharmed, 
stared  with  ashen  pale  face  and  bloodshot  eyes  at  his 
terrible  judge.  "  Name  to  me  the  hiding-place  of  Lesina's 
daughter,  for  thou  knowest  it,  —  and  I  will  yet  be  merci- 
ful." 

For  a  moment  dread  silence  filled  the  chamber. 

"  Name  to  thee  the  hiding-place  of  the  nun  thou  hast 
raped  from  the  altars  of  Christ,  —  the  wanton  who  fol- 
lowed the  trail  of  her  own  infamy  by  fastening  herself 
on  thine?     Seek  her  in  the  hovels  of  her  kind,  —  thou 


37^  Castel  &el  /iDontc 

knowest  the  opportunities!  Or  if  thou  miss  her  there, 
inquire  of  the  fiend  with  whom  thou  hast  shared  her  —  " 

"  Upon  him  —  upon  him !  Hack  him  to  pieces !  "  roared 
the  duke,  in  maddened  frenzy,  while  with  a  mad  leap 
he  rushed  into  the  midst  of  the  recommencing  fray, 
which  brought  him  face  to  face  with  the  castellan.  Like 
two  infuriated  tigers  they  sprang  at  each  other,  and  so 
fast  and  furious  followed  thrust  and  parry  that,  much 
to  their  chagrin,  the  duke's  followers  were  compelled  to 
desist,  not  daring  to  approach  within  sword-length  of  the 
combatants.  Ihe  Catalan's  more  powerful  stature  was 
counterbalanced  by  the  duke's  serpent-like  agility,  which 
caused  him  to  evade  the  furious  onslaught  of  his  adver- 
sary. Tables  and  chairs  had  been  overturned  in  the  heat 
of  the  fray ;  three  times  they  had  made  the  round  of  the 
chamber,  without  the  duke's  gaining  a  positive  advantage 
over  Crivello,  at  the  point  of  whose  weapon  despair  sat 
and  guided  his  thrusts.  Suddenly  his  foot  slipped  in  the 
viands  which  had  been  overturned,  and  he  had  hardly 
touched  the  floor  in  his  fall  ere  the  duke's  steel  pierced 
him  through  and  through.  Crivello's  sword  fell  from  his 
nerveless  grasp.  Altamura's  aim  had  been  true,  for  from 
a  ghastly  wound  in  the  castellan's  heart  the  black  blood 
spurted  over  the  floor,  and  with  one  last  gasp  he  sank  back 
dead  amidst  the  fragments  of  the  banquet  and  the  spilled 
wine.  The  duke,  after  one  last  glance  at  his  former  serv- 
itor, wiped  the  dark  sweat  from  his  brow,  then  cleaned 
his  bloody  weapon  on  his  victim's  doublet. 

"  Take  him  away,"  he  turned  to  Scrivezzo,  who  rushed 
forward  with  the  avidity  of  a  wild  beast,  fearful  lest  its 
prey  should  be  snatched  from  it.  "  Best  to  the  trap-door! 
Let  him  rot  in  noble  society." 

Then  throwing  himself  with  a  lofty  air  into  the  raised 
seat  so  lately  occupied  by  the  fallen  follower,  the  duke 


Castel  &el  /iDonte  377 

filled  a  goblet  of  wine  to  the  brim,  and,  with  a  smile 
which  seemed  full  of  joviality  and  heartiness,  drank  to  the 
health  of  all  his  honoured  guests  and  the  company  of 
Catalans  in  particular. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE  SHRINES   OF   ANGELO  DEI   LOMBARDI 

Like  a  plague-stricken  land,  where  brother  fears 
brother  and  friend  dreads  friend,  where  children  turn 
against  parents  and  lovers  eye  each  other  with  secret 
distrust,  brooded  the  broad  Apulian  expanse.  The  papal 
interdict  had  withered  life  and  joy ;  no  sanctuary  was 
open,  no  mass  was  sung;  the  sick  perished  without  the 
sacrament,  new-born  babes  were  deprived  of  the  bap- 
tismal fount.  The  beggar  monks  had  increased  as  a 
plague  of  locusts ;  their  black  bands  swarmed  through 
Southern  Italy,  promulgating  the  decrees  of  the  pontiff 
and  paralyzing  the  last  remnants  of  loyalty  to  the  im- 
perial house  of  Suabia.  Everywhere  sullen,  glowering 
faces  met  the  gaze,  and  superstitious  fear  aided  to  accom- 
plish what  the  Provengals  had  not  so  far  been  able  to 
achieve,  —  the  downfall  of  the  dynasty,  and  with  it 
anarchy,  rebellion,  and  lawlessness. 

Such  was  the  character  of  the  country  which  Manfred 
and  his  trusty  band  traversed  on  steeds  fleet  as  arrows, 
wont  to  race  against  the  sand-storms  of  the  Arabian 
desert,  —  on  the  highroad  from  Lucera  to  Castel  del 
Monte.  The  king  longed  for  reunion  with  his  beloved 
queen,  whom  he  had  not  seen  since  she  had  left  Palermo 
under  the  armed  escort  of  the  Count  of  Angalone.  The 
revolt  of  Lucera,  so  narrowly  averted,  and  the  stringent 
measures  required  to  quell  in  the  bud  any  second  attempt, 

378 


Ubc  Sbrines  of  Ungclo  ^cl  XombarM    379 

emanating  from  misguided  ambition,  to  play  the  almost 
impregnable  stronghold  into  the  hands  of  the  Provengals, 
had  detained  Manfred  much  beyond  his  own  expecta- 
tions. Accompanied  by  the  tried  and  proven  friends  of 
his  father,  the  brothers  Capece,  Galvano  Lancia,  the  lords 
of  Frangipani,  Acerra,  and  John  of  Procida,  he  was 
hastening  southward.  While  the  Saracens  of  Sidi  Yussuff 
held  the  ramparts  of  San  Germano  against  the  furious 
onslaughts  of  the  Provengals,  while  the  Count  of  Caserta 
defended  the  passes  of  the  Garigliano,  all  was  well.  With 
his  superior  forces  Manfred  hoped  to  terminate  the  war 
with  one  successful  stroke,  the  more  so  as  the  Romans 
had  turned  their  starving  allies  into  the  bleak  wastes  of 
the  Campagna,  tiring  of  the  rapacious  rabble,  who  plun- 
dered alike  the  territories  of  friend  and  foe.  For  Charles 
of  Anjou  treated  the  states  of  the  Church,  the  patrimony 
of  St.  P'eter,  whose  successor  had  blessed  his  banners, 
with  the  same  rapacious  impartiality  as  if  they  had  been 
the  lands  he  was  yet  to  conquer. 

Ottorino  Visconti  had  accompanied  Manfred  to  Lucera, 
and  had  remained  near  the  king  until  the  revolt  of  John 
the  Moor  had  been  quelled.  Then  the  anxiety  for  Helena 
di  Miraval,  of  whom  he  had  not  discovered  the  faintest 
trace  during  their  forced  inland  marches,  had  not  per- 
mitted him  to  tarry  longer.  With  the  promise  to  rejoin 
the  royal  forces  at  Castel  del  Monte,  the  Lombard  de- 
tached himself  from  the  suite  of  the  king  in  order  to 
continue  unhampered  his  search  for  the  lost  one,  a  task 
made  hitherto  almost  impossible,  while  hampered  by  an 
armed  retinue.  For  this  reason  he  had  caused  Canaletto 
and  the  Lombard  contingent  to  attach  themselves  to  the 
Apulian  squadron  which  Manfred  was  leading  into  the 
Basilicata.  He  himself  set  out  alone,  bearing  a  heavy 
heart  and  oppressed  with  dreary  forebodings  of  the  future. 


sSo  Castel  &cl  ^onte 

It  was  a  bright  but  sultry  morning,  when  a  solitary 
horseman  was  seen  winding  that  unequalled  road  from 
whose  heights,  amid  fig-trees,  vines,  and  olives,  the  trav- 
eller beholds,  gradually  breaking  upon  his  gaze,  the  gray, 
massive  walls  of  San  Angelo  dei  Lombardi,  a  feudal 
town  situated  in  a  southeasterly  direction  from  the  city 
of  Benevento.  The  vicinity  of  the  old  capital  of  Norman 
Italy,  which  was  so  soon  to  assembl*^  within  her  gates 
the  parliament  of  the  realm  and  the  united  Ghibelline 
forces,  had  prompted  Ottorino  to  search  for  Helena  di 
Miraval's  unknown  dwelling-place  in  regions  which  the 
duke  of  necessity  must  traverse  within  a  brief  space  of 
time.  The  surmise  that  he  would  not  hie  away  his  kins- 
woman beyond  his  own  possibilities  of  reach  seemed  to 
bid  for  better  success  than  the  Lombard's  hitherto  erratic 
researches  had  been  crowned  with.  That  Helena  was 
not  in  the  train  of  the  duke  he  had  assurance  positive. 
Before  leaving  Palermo  he  had  also  ascertained  from  a 
bravo,  who  deemed  it  nothing  amiss  to  serve  two  masters, 
that  a  high-bom  lady,  whose  identity  his  informant  could 
not  reveal,  had  during  the  night  been  conveyed  under 
strong  escort  on  board  a  ship,  ready  to  start  under  secret 
orders  for  some  Apulian  or  Calabrian  port. 

While  the  surmise  that  the  lady  of  Miraval  might  be 
detained  in  one  of  the  numerous  feudal  castles  along  the 
coast  seemed  not  altogether  vain,  Ottorino,  after  carefully 
weighing  every  consideration  in  favour  of  or  against  the 
latter  supposition,  concluded  that  the  duke  would  hardly 
expose  his  kinswoman  to  the  dangers  arising  from  the 
sudden  landing  of  a  hostile  fleet.  He  was  resolved  to 
continue  his  search  in  the  duke's  trail,  more  firmly  con- 
vinced than  ever  that  the  woman  he  loved  would  not  be 
far  from  her  jailer,  whose  vigilance  no  message  to  himself 
had  been  allowed  to  escape. 


XTbe  Sbrines  ot  Snaelo  &et  XombarM    sSi 

Ottorino  did  not  pursue  his  path  with  the  traveller's 
customary  eye  of  admiration,  nor  was  the  scene  which 
spread  before  him  one  very  animating  or  inspiring. 
All  was  silent,  void,  and  hushed,  and  even  the  light  of 
heaven  reflected  a  gloomy,  oppressive  glare.  Of  the  few 
cottages  by  the  roadside  some  were  closed  up,  some 
wide  open,  but  all  seemingly  inmateless.  The  plough 
stood  still ;  the  distaff  plied  not ;  there  was  a  darker  curse 
upon  the  land  than  the  black  plague,  which  was  to  hold 
its  deadly  harvest  in  these  regions  a  half-century  hence: 
it  was  the  papal  interdict.  Now  and  then  some  forlorn 
straggler,  clad  in  the  coarse  garb  of  the  Calabrian  peasant 
or  the  gloomy  vestment  of  a  friar,  crossed  the  deserted 
road,  staring  with  livid  and  amazed  countenance  at  the 
solitary  horseman,  then  crossing  himself  and  vanishing 
beneath  some  roof,  from  whose  entrance  peered  the  sullen 
visage  of  its  starving  owner. 

Impatient  and  well-nigh  despairing,  Ottorino  at  last 
spurred  his  horse  toward  the  gates  of  San  Angelo  dei 
Lombardi.  He  had  partaken  of  no  food  for  twenty- four 
hours ;  his  strength  was  almost  exhausted  and  his  senses 
reeled  under  the  relentless  rays  of  the  scorching  noon- 
day sun.  He  almost  fell  from  his  horse  as  he  reached 
a  hostelry  just  outside  the  gates.  His  repeated  calls 
eliciting  no  response,  the  Visconti  dismounted  and,  fasten- 
ing his  steed  to  an  estrada  in  which  the  door,  half-torn 
from  its  hinges,  stood  slightly  ajar,  he  entered,  but  he 
paused  as  soon  as  he  had  set  foot  on  the  threshold.  Hud- 
dled together  on  the  barren  floor  lay  a  company  of  as- 
pect so  little  inviting,  a  medley  of  beggars'  crutches, 
poniards,  clubs,  and  filth,  that  Ottorino  preferred  the 
pangs  of  hunger  and  thirst  to  the  questionable  comforts 
awaiting  him  in  that  society.  Turning  almost  as  quickly 
as  he  had  entered,  he  remounted  his  steed  and  was  about 


382  Castel  Del  /iDonte 

to  head  for  the  moat,  when  he  sighted  a  dark  procession 
emerging  from  a  gate  which  he  had  not  earher  observed, 
which  swept  by  him  and  disappeared  in  the  valley  be- 
yond, —  a  procession  of  featureless  spectres,  wrapped  in 
long,  shroudlike  robes,  hymning  in  solemn  dirge  the  im- 
ploring line,  "Miserere  —  Miserere." 

Prompted  by  a  sudden  impulse,  the  Lombard  resolved 
to  follow.  The  spectral  procession  turned  down  a  green 
lane  remote  from  the  road,  and  disappeared  behind  the 
portals  of  a  cloister  which  for  the  first  time  revealed  itself 
to  Ottorino's  gaze.  Beyond  the  cloister,  half-hidden  in 
the  green,  were  the  vineyards  and  olive  groves,  villages 
and  convents  of  the  Principato,  while  behind  him  San 
Angelo  dei  Lombardi  reared  its  towers,  battlements,  and 
spires  to  the  glowing  horizon. 

At  the  base  of  a  gently  sloping,  verdant  hill  stood  the 
cloister,  whither  the  Lombard  had  been  attracted  by  the 
strange  procession  which  had  vanished  behind  its  massive 
doors  of  bronze.  They  were  left  ajar,  as  if  in  their  haste 
the  nuns  had  neglected  to  bar  the  portals,  once  the  barriers 
between  the  world  and  a  sphere  no  layman's  foot  dared 
profane.  Permitting  his  steed  to  graze  under  the  wide- 
spreading  branches  of  oaks  and  plane-trees  which  sur- 
rounded the  sanctuary,  Ottorino  entered  the  refectory  of 
the  cloister.  It  was  deserted.  Through  a  high  and  nar- 
row casement,  sunk  deep  in  the  massive  walls  almost 
directly  above  the  place  where  he  stood,  an  errant  ray  of 
sunlight  streamed  into  the  purple  dusk. 

While  scanning  his  surroundings  in  quest  of  some  liv- 
ing object,  Ottorino  perceived  a  chapel  close  by.  Through 
the  painted  windows  gleamed  faintly,  dimmed  by  the 
noonday  sun,  the  light  of  tapers.  Ottorino  stared  aghast. 
Who  dared  defy  the  interdict  and  offer  divine  adoration 
before  altars  profaned  and  deserted?    Approaching  with 


Ube  Sbrines  of  Hngelo  Dei  XombarM    383 

noiseless  steps,  he  entered  the  sanctuary  and  beheld  a 
single  nun  kneeling  in  silent  prayer  before  a  duskily 
illumined  shrine.  Impressed  with  the  desolation  and 
sanctity  of  the  place  and  the  touching  sight  of  this  solitary 
and  unselfish  bride  of  Christ,  Ottorino,  forgetful  of  thirst, 
hunger,  and  fatigue,  obeyed  but  the  mastering  impulse  of 
his  heart;  he  knelt  unseen  by  the  nun,  while  his  lips 
offered  up  a  fervent  prayer  for  one  ray  of  light  in  the 
gloom  which  oppressed  his  soul. 

As  he  rose,  somewhat  relieved,  the  nun  rose  also  and, 
startled  by  the  sound,  turned  her  head.  But  no  sooner 
had  their  eyes  met  than  with  a  wild,  delirious  shriek  they 
rushed  into  each  other's  arms. 

"Ottorino!" 

"Helena!" 

For  a  time  they  remained  locked  in  silent  embrace. 
Neither  spoke,  each  dreading  to  break  the  spell  which 
had  once  again  woven  its  magic  around  them ;  only  their 
eyes  and  hearts  held  silent  converse. 

"  Oh,  Helena,  Helena,"  Ottorino  at  last  spoke,  in  falter- 
ing accents,  "  have  I  lived  to  gaze  again  into  your  eyes, 
—  to  touch  your  hand,  —  to  hold  you  in  my  embrace? 
By  what  miracle  are  you  here  ?  Has  Heaven  returned  to 
me  the  treasure  which  I  had  sought  so  long  with  dread 
and  anguish?  Helena,  speak!  Is  it  you,  or  is  it  some 
mocking  phantom  ?  Are  you  alone  ?  How  pale  your  face ! 
Speak,  my  Helena,  speak,  for  my  senses  reel."  He  paused, 
closing  his  eyes.    His  face  was  very  pale. 

"  Ah,  Ottorino,  it  is  I,  Helena  di  Miraval,  —  your 
Helena  indeed,  —  not  a  pale  and  mocking  phantom !  But 
you  live  —  you  live,  Ottorino?  You  have  returned  from 
the  waves  in  which  I  saw  you  sink  beside  the  murdered 
boatman?  Tell  me  all,  —  tell  me  how  it  befell,  —  it  is 
like  a  dream,  I  cannot  grasp  it  I  " 


3^4  Castel  Del  /IDonte 

"  Not  of  myself  let  us  speak,  but  of  you,  my  Helena, 
you  whom  I  sought  heartsick  and  despairing  throughout 
the  length  and  breadth  of  this  desolate  land!  But  why 
this  garb,  the  habit  of  the  cloister?  You  have  not  — 
Helena  —  " 

He  paused,  the  unspoken  thought  driving  the  last 
vestige  of  colour  from  his  face. 

"  I  am  still  of  the  world,  despite  this  garb,"  she  replied, 
with  a  smile,  "  though  sadly  changed  since  we  last  saw 
each  other." 

"  Fairer  you  are  and  lovelier,  my  Helena,"  replied  Otto- 
rino,  passionately.  "  But  now  tell  me,  my  life,  how  came 
you  here?  Why  this  gown  and  what  is  your  mission  in 
this  God-forsaken  abode  ?  Or  is  it  —  a  prison,  in  which 
you  have  but  liberty  to  roam  at  will  ?  Speak  of  yourself, 
not  of  me !  " 

Helena  raised  her  eyes  to  those  of  her  lover,  while  her 
hands  rested  upon  his  shoulders. 

"  It  is  like  a  miracle,  —  a  dream,  —  I  can  hardly  grasp 
it,  —  we  both  living,  standing  face  to  face  and  hand  in 
hand.  What  have  I  not  suffered  since  that  dreadful  night 
when  I  saw  you  disappear  beneath  the  waves,  and  felt 
myself  snatched  up  by  the  arms  of  masked  and  muffled 
men  and  carried  —  I  knew  not  whither.  When  first  I 
woke  from  my  swoon  the  moon  shone  brightly  on  the 
waves,  over  which  a  swift  craft  bore  me  toward  some  un- 
known goal.  My  first  glance  fell  upon  dark,  scowling 
faces,  —  they  told  me  you  were  dead.  I  remember  little 
more  till  the  Stygian  darkness  of  night  was  rent  by  in- 
cessant lightning;  crashing  peals  of  thunder  and  the 
deafening  roar  of  the  tempest  drowned  the  voices  of  the 
terrified  seamen,  who  saw  their  craft  at  the  mercy  of 
the  elements.  I  prayed  but  for  death.  The  frail  shell, 
containing  ten  lives,  suddenly  capsized.    The  men  fought 


Ubc  Sbrines  ot  angelo  &et  XombarM    385 

madly  for  even  a  straw  to  cling  to,  and  no  hand  was 
stretched  out  to  save  the  woman.  But  a  galley  plying 
close  by  picked  up  my  well-nigh  spent  and  lifeless  body; 
the  duke's  men  perished  in  the  waves.  The  noble  Gen- 
oese inquired  not  as  to  the  quality,  name,  or  rank  of 
her  who  enjoyed  the  hospitality  of  his  craft,  but  when  in 
parting  I  insisted  upon  learning  to  whom  Helena  di 
Miraval  owed  her  life,  he  reluctantly  revealed  his  name: 
Fiesco  di  Lavagna." 

"  No  nobler  name  echoes  through  all  Grenoa !  But  then, 
my  beloved  —  then  ?  " 

"  At  Naples  the  commandant  of  the  frigate  conducted 
his  charge  to  a  convent,  where  I  remained  till  I  learned  of 
a  company  of  pilgrims  ready  to  set  out  for  the  shrines  of 
St.  Michael  of  Angelo  dei  Lombardi.  When  the  tidings 
spread  of  the  interdict  the  officiating  monk  forsook  the 
shrines  before  which  he  had  been  kneeling,  forgetting  in 
his  frenzied  panic  to  extinguish  the  candles  before  which 
you  found  me,  not  knowing  where  to  turn,  where  to  go." 

After  Helena  di  Miraval  had  concluded  her  account, 
neither  spoke  for  a  time.  Ijong  and  closely  they  remained 
in  each  other's  embrace,  and  while  he  kissed  the  tears 
from  the  long,  silken  lashes,  on  which  they  trembled  like 
morning  dew  on  mystic  night-viols,  Ottorino  sought  to 
read  the  untold  history  of  suffering  and  anguish  in  the 
depths  of  the  eyes,  which  held  his  own  with  their  subtle 
spell. 

"  It  was  the  magic  of  these  dear  eyes  that  guided  me 
across  the  plains,  hither,  to  your  side  in  this  of  all  hours, 
my  Helena,  hither,  where  I  should  have  been,  to  shield 
you,  to  guard  you,  to  guide  your  steps  to  safety  and  to 
freedom.  But  this  air  is  oppressive  and  I  am  faint.  Let 
us  seek  a  resting-place  where  a  gentle  zephyr  sways  the 
branches  of  the  oaks." 


386  Castel  t)el  /iDonte 

"  There  are  olives  and  provisions  stored  beneath  a 
shrine,  where  the  pilgrims  in  their  haste  relinquished 
them,"  Helena  replied,  with  a  look  of  deep  concern  at 
her  lover's  pallid  countenance,  and,  taking  him  by  the 
hand,  led  him  to  the  indicated  spot.  Ottorino's  strength 
and  spirits  quickly  revived  during  the  repast,  of  which 
Helena  but  scantily  partook,  and  only  in  obeisance  to  his 
urgent  entreaties. 

For  the  next  hour  the  lovers  abandoned  themselves 
wholly  to  the  delight  of  reunion,  while  new  reminiscences 
called  forth  ever  new  transports  of  joy  and  happiness. 

"And  now,"  murmured  Helena,  her  head  resting  on 
Ottorino's  breast,  "  now  that  our  fate  has  so  wondrously 
brought  us  together  —  " 

She  paused,  averting  her  blushing  face. 

"  Now  that  we  have  so  miraculously  met,"  said  Otto- 
rino,  filling  up  the  silence,  "  would  you  say  further,  that 
we  should  not  part  again?  Trust  me,  dearest,  that  is  the 
wish  which  animates  my  heart.  And  yet,  —  must  I  be  the 
one  to  tell  it?  I  tremble  for  you,  beloved,  until  we  shall 
have  reached  the  boundaries,  beyond  which  the  name  of 
Altamura  dies  like  a  meaningless  sound." 

"  Where  shall  we  go,  Ottorino?  "  Helena  faltered,  after 
a  brief  pause. 

"  Ever  northward,  starting  with  the  rising  moon.  Bene- 
vento  will  be  our  next  resting-place;  ere  dawn  we  shall 
reach  her  gates." 

"  Benevento  ?  "  Helena  exclaimed.  "  There  we  shall 
meet  the  duke.    He  will  destroy  us  both." 

"  Fear  not,  my  love,"  Ottorino  reassured  her,  as  he 
supported  her  trembling  form.  "  The  Archbishop  of 
Benevento  has  ever  been  the  Visconti's  friend;  under 
his  roof  you  will  be  as  safe  as  under  the  emperor's,  and 


Ubc  Sbrtnes  of  UrxQclo  &ci  Xoml)ar^t    387 

there  you  will  remain  until  I  return  from  Castel  del 
Monte." 

"  But  why  must  we  part  ag^ain  ? "  she  faltered,  her 
eyes  seeking  his  in  mute  entreaty. 

"  My  place  is  by  the  side  of  Manfred ;  to  guard  him, 
the  last  of  his  glorious  house,  'gainst  treason,  be  it  in 
council-hall  or  on  the  field  of  battle,"  Ottorino  replied. 
And,  as  Helena  made  no  response,  he  continued :  "  Your 
silence  speaks  to  me  your  heart,  and  I  thank  you,  dearest, 
with  all  the  love  and  fervour  of  mine.  But  after  my  re- 
turn I  must  find  shelter  for  my  treasure  other  than  the 
old  witches'  city,  and  while  the  mountain  passes  remain 
free  I  will  place  you  in  Canaletto's  care,  who  will  conduct 
you  safely  behind  the  walls  of  Ghibelline  Florence.  There 
I  will  claim  you  as  my  own  when  the  cloud  now  obscuring 
the  horizon  has  faded  away." 

"  I  would  follow  you  to  the  end  of  the  world,  Ottorino," 
Helena  said,  glancing  up  into  her  lover's  face,  "  but  while 
you  remain  at  Benevento  my  place  is  by  your  side !  " 

Ottorino's  gaze  rested  with  unspeakable  tenderness  on 
the  adored  face. 

"  You  cannot  remain  at  Benevento,  dearest,"  he  replied, 
caressing  her  dark  hair.  "  The  fate  of  the  kingdom  may 
be  decided  under  her  very  walls.  Should  I  fall  —  you 
would  be  left  alone  without  protector  at  the  mercy  of  a 
horde  of  fiends !  " 

She  shook  her  head  half-smilingly,  half  in  defiance,  but 
her  face  was  very  pale. 

"  I  would  die  with  you,"  she  spoke,  with  quivering  lips. 

There  was  such  earnestness  in  her  tones  that  for  a 
moment  Ottorino  could  find  no  words  to  reply,  then  he 
clasped  her  softly  clinging  form  to  his  heart  and  kissed 
the  sweet  pale  lips  again  and  again  until  their  sweetness 
made  him  forget  present  and  future. 


388  Castel  t>el  /»ontc 

Evening  came  at  last.  The  burning  calm  was  followed 
by  a  breeze,  breathing  of  life,  and  in  the  sky  sailed,  as  if 
it  were  wafted  by  the  gentle  zephyrs,  the  evening  star. 
The  lifeless  silence  of  the  plains  now  began  to  be  broken 
by  a  variety  of  sounds,  wild  and  sad  enough  in  them- 
selves, but  softened  by  distance  and  not  ill  suited  to  that 
declining  hour  which  is  so  fit  an  emblem  of  the  decline 
of  life.  The  moaning  of  the  shepherds'  horns,  the  low 
of  the  folding  herds,  the  scream  of  the  vulture,  wheeling 
home  from  some  feast  of  carnage,  the  howl  of  the  jackal, 
venturing  out  on  the  edge  of  dusk,  came  with  no  un- 
pleasing  melancholy  upon  the  wind.  The  hour  of  de- 
parture was  at  hand. 

Ottorino  gently  assisted  Helena  into  the  saddle  of  a 
jennet  which  he  had  procured  at  a  near-by  monastery, 
and  much  cause  for  merriment  the  singular  spectacle  of 
a  knight  of  the  empire  travelling  in  company  with  a  nun 
would  have  afforded  to  any  chance  passer-by.  But  the 
road  they  chose  was  as  deserted  and  lonely  as  if  they  were 
traversing  a  plague-stricken  province.  They  were  ap- 
proaching a  wood,  skirting  a  valley  on  either  side,  when 
a  black  pedestrian  suddenly  overtook  the  Lombard  and 
his  companion,  and,  glancing  at  the  twain,  hastened  past 
with  almost  inconceivable  rapidity.  Helena  had  scarcely 
noticed  the  phantom,  whom  she  perhaps  thought  some 
Moorish  slave  making  his  escape.  But  Ottorino  instantly 
whirled  his  crossbow,  which  on  this  occasion  he  had  for 
precaution's  sake  added  to  his  armament,  from  his  shoul- 
der, carefully  set  the  bolt,  and  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye  the  rapid  messenger  had  fallen  to  the  ground  with 
a  mortal  stroke. 

Helena's  wonder  at  this  extraordinary  act  of  violence 
on  the  part  of  her  lover  only  subsided  when  in  the  slain 
she  recognized  the  duke's  swift  African  runner,  Zem. 


Ube  Sbrines  of  Hnaelo  ^ci  XombarM    389 

Then  the  peril  from  which  Ottorino's  quick  and  circum- 
spect action  had  deHvered  them  dawned  upon  her  in  its 
whole  extent.  Qosely  she  kept  by  the  side  of  her  lover, 
whose  trusty  steed,  refreshed  by  the  noonday  siesta  under 
the  shady  oaks,  kept  even  pace  with  its  fresher  long-eared 
companion.  Soon  the  shrines  of  San  Angelo  dei  Lom- 
bardi  had  vanished  in  the  silvery  mists  which  enshrouded 
the  Apulian  plains,  and  every  step  brought  these  two 
nearer  their  goal,  nearer  their  fate,  nearer  the  walls  of  the 
ancient  city  of  Benevento. 


CHAPTER   III. 


THE   SHADES   OF    MIDNIGHT 


In  one  of  the  secluded  chambers  of  Castel  del  Monte 
a  silver  lamp  with  three  branches  was  burning,  diffusing 
a  sweet  perfume  through  the  room.  The  solitary  occu- 
pant of  the  apartment  was  walking  up  and  down  in  a 
meditative  manner,  with  head  bent  low ;  from  time  to  time 
he  made  a  gesture  with  his  hand  as  if  to  throw  some- 
thing off  his  mind ;  at  last  he  paused  before  a  table,  un- 
buckled his  sword,  and  hung  it  against  the  wall ;  then  he 
uncovered  the  inkstand,  took  a  sheet  of  parchment,  dipped 
his  pen  in  the  ink  and,  finding  that  it  wrote  too  thick, 
began  to  mend  it;  but  as  he  turned  it  and  re-turned  it, 
cut  it  and  recut  it,  his  brain  began  to  whirl.  In  a  few 
moments  he  recovered  himself  and,  suddenly  remember- 
ing what  he  was  about  and  what  he  intended  to  do,  threw 
away  the  pen-stump  which  he  had  spoiled,  took  a  new 
one,  dipped  it  into  the  ink  in  a  determined  manner,  and 
started  to  write.  Again  he  paused,  leaned  back,  and 
gazed  at  the  ceiling,  deliberating  how  in  anticipation  of 
impending  events  he  should  begin  his  letter;  but  after 
remaining  in  this  position  for  some  time  and  receiving  no 
inspiration,  the  letter  made  no  progress.  At  last  the  Duke 
of  Altamura  took  up  a  great  mass  of  manuscript  which 
was  lying  before  him,  and,  throwing  it  roughly  behind  his 
chair,  sprang  to  his  feet ;  then  striking  his  forehead  with 

390 


Ube  SbaDes  ot  /IDi&niQbt  391 

his  hand,  he  began  afresh  to  pace  the  room,  talking  to 
himself  all  the  time. 

"  The  poisonous  breath  of  evil  has  gone  forth  and 
withered  the  flowers  of  life,  —  away,  foolish  vapours ! 
Let  my  star  shine  forth  in  the  impending  night  that  is 
to  precede  a  clearer  morning." 

With  a  derisive  smile  he  reseated  himself  to  his  task, 
resuming  his  letter  to  the  Senate  and  people  of  Rome, 
while  the  phantoms  of  Guelph  and  Ghibelline,  of  Pope 
and  emperor,  of  intrigues  and  war,  flitted  through  his 
burning  brain.  He  heard  not  the  door  behind  him  turn 
on  its  hinges,  nor  was  he  aware  of  another's  presence, 
until,  raising  his  head  from  the  parchment,  pondering 
how  most  subtly  to  prepare  the  Romans  for  that  which 
must  so  soon  befall,  he  noted  in  the  polished  bronze 
mirror  before  him  the  indistinct  outlines  of  a  form  which, 
whether  a  spirit  or  in  the  flesh,  was  there  to  no  good 
purpose.  With  a  fierce  outcry  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and, 
quickly  turning,  hurled  the  inkstand  with  such  force  in 
the  direction  of  the  intruder  that  it  missed  him  but  by  a 
hairbreadth,  striking  the  wall  behind  him  and  breaking 
into  a  thousand  fragments,  while  the  dark  fluid  was 
spilled  over  the  rich  tapestry  and  the  costly  Persian 
carpet. 

A  low,  derisive  laugh  mocked  the  duke's  frenzy. 

"  Thou  wilt  encounter  phantoms  in  plenty  ere  thou 
startest  on  the  decline  of  thy  career,  Duke  of  Altamura," 
croaked  a  mocking  voice,  while  he  from  whose  head  had 
been  so  narrowly  averted  the  dark  baptismal  slowly 
emerged  from  the  shadows. 

"  What  evil  demon  brings  thee  here,  Caserta  ?  "  growled 
the  duke,  a  sinister  light  flaming  in  his  eyes.  "  And  taunt 
me  not  with  fear  of  that  of  which  thou  art  sorely  igno- 
rant." 


392  Castel  t)el  /iDonte 

"  What  evil  demon  brings  me  here  ? "  replied  Reinald 
Aquino,  Count  of  Caserta,  throwing  back  his  cowl  and 
disguise  and  revealing  his  pale,  haggard  countenance.  "  I 
know  of  but  one  —  and  thou  art  he." 

"  Indeed !  Though  from  thy  tones  I  should  judge  thou 
seekest  rather  a  confessor  than  associate.  Again,  —  what 
brings  thee  here  ?  " 

"  Am  I  not  welcome  ?  " 

"  A  traitor  is  never  welcome." 

"  Art  thou  mad,  duke  ?  Traitor,  —  hast  thou  not  coun- 
selled the  deed  thyself  ?  " 

"Ay  —  though  I  have  counselled,  thou  art  the  perpe- 
trator.   Posterity  will  not  deprive  thee  of  that  glory ! " 

"  Death  and  perdition,  —  dost  thou  recant  ?  " 

"  The  Duke  of  Altamura  never  recants !  What  I  have 
begun  that  I  will  see  to  an  end.  Thy  presence  here  is  a 
menace !    What  seekest  thou  in  Castel  del  Monte  ?  " 

"  Seek  —  seek  ?  "  growled  Caserta. 

"  I  am  neither  oracle  nor  wizard !  " 

"Thou  knowest,  Satan,  —  she  is  here?" 

"  For  this,  then,  thou  didst  abandon  thy  trust  ?  " 

"  And  if  so,  —  wilt  thou  prevent  me  ?  " 

"  If  I  find  it  expedient  to  do  so,  —  I  will !  " 

"  Then  let  me  remind  thee,  Duke  of  Altamura,  —  thou 
art  not  yet  at  the  end  of  thy  goal.  The  bridge  of  the 
Garigliano  is  still  held  by  Ghibelline  forces !  I  have  been 
deceived,  belied  —  " 

"  Hast  thou  met  a  prophet  in  the  desert,  or  wert  thou 
favoured  with  a  revelation  ?  "  sneered  the  duke. 

"Ay!  I  did  encounter  one  of  the  species  of  lying 
prophets  —  Pietro  del  Vico,  the  thrice-damned  villain, 
revealed  to  me,  ere  his  treacherous  lips  grew  cold  in 
death,  the  identity  of  those  cooing  turtle-doves  in  the 
cavern." 


XTbe  Sba^es  ot  /iMbnigbt  393 

Altamura  turned  pale. 

"  A  most  wondrous  fable !  The  rogue  deserving  of 
tenfold  damnation  cheats  himself  into  the  belief  that  his 
lying  death-bed  confession  will  straightway  carry  him  to 
paradise.    Where  did  Del  Vico  meet  his  doom  ?  " 

"  At  the  pass  of  Casalto.  A  spear-point  pierced  his 
intestines,  —  in  his  confession  he  named  thee,  Duke  of 
Altamura,  his  accomplice !  " 

"  He  was  an  execrable  villain  in  life,  —  he  is  an  ex- 
ecrable villain  in  death." 

A  mocking  laugh  broke  from  the  duke's  lips  as  with 
a  sneer  he  continued : 

"  Was  it  I  who  caused  thee  to  behold  thine  own  dis- 
grace in  the  grottoes  of  Proserpina,  or  another,  afraid  lest 
the  flames  of  purgatory  would  burn  his  black  soul  to  a 
crisp  did  he  not  unload  upon  another  a  share  of  his  sins 
ere  he  crossed  the  dark  river  ? " 

"  Then  let  San  Severino  gainsay  him,  the  prompter 
of  a  deception  dark  as  the  blackest  midnight." 

The  duke  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Thy  scruples  are  belated.  I  shun  the  testimony  of 
a  carcass." 

"  Hast  thou  slain  him,  too  ?  "  gasped  Caserta,  receding 
in  speechless  amazement. 

"Vitality  is  a  cursed  habit,"  the  duke  replied,  with  a 
cruel  smile.  "  Why  cling  persistently  to  this  form  of 
clay?" 

Caserta  stared  for  a  moment  in  silence,  then  he  flew 
into  a  rage. 

"  Thou  unutterable  traitor  and  fiend !  And  I  struck 
her  down  at  parting,  —  her  mute  eyes  my  silent  accusers 
in  the  face  of  heaven." 

Caserta  covered  his  passion-distorted  features  with  his 
trembling  hands,  while  he  gasped  for  breath. 


394  Castel  bel  /Route 

"  By  the  fiends  of  doom,  what  have  we  here?  A  rant- 
ing monk  or  a  hysterical  neophyte,  who  raves  and  whines 
and  brays  his  shame  to  the  silent  stars?  Thou  hast  de- 
serted thy  post  upon  the  lying  testimony  of  a  varlet  who 
fears  to  face  his  judge  in  the  beyond,  —  thou  hast 
jeopardized  the  cause  to  which  thou  art  bound  by  oaths 
which  not  even  one  of  thy  kind  dares  to  break.  By  the 
five  wounds,  —  thy  madness  goes  too  far !  " 

"  I  will  have  certainty  —  certainty  at  every  risk,"  re- 
plied Caserta,  advancing  with  pale,  drawn  features,  "  be- 
fore the  last  fateful  step  which  must  for  ever  sever  the 
cause  of  Reinald  Aquino  from  that  of  Manfred,  the 
Hohenstaufen !  " 

"  What  hast  thou  in  common  with  the  dynasty  ?  Art 
thou  not  an  Apulian?  Art  thou  not  one  of  us?  Whose 
cause  have  I  taken  up?  Is  it  not  thine?  Thou  hast 
pricked  my  flesh  with  the  sharp  thorn  of  thy  hatred,  and 
now  thou  quakest  before  the  shades  thou  hast  evoked ! " 

"  Is  our  cause  so  weak  that  a  breath  from  a  woman's 
lips  may  overthrow  it  ?  " 

"  I  mean  to  save  thee  from  thyself !  The  taunts  of  a 
dying  rogue  have  made  thee  oblivious  of  thy  pledge,  — 
caused  thee  to  steal  hither  like  a  milksop  lover  who  sings 
to  his  inamorata  in  the  moonlight.  Where  is  thy  lyre, 
Reinald  Aquino  ?  The  moon  is  rising  without,  —  I  will 
conduct  thee  to  a  spot  where  thou  mayest  croak  lustily 
till  cockcrow,  striking  the  chords  with  the  point  of  thy 
stiff  Spanish  beard.  How  now?  One  madness  is  worth 
another !  " 

Caserta  coloured  to  his  very  temples,  and  a  hot  reply 
hovered  on  his  lips,  but  he  restrained  himself  with  an 
effort. 

"  Speak,  then,"  he  growled,  with  downcast  eyes,  which 
dared  not  meet  the  duke's,  "  I  listen." 


Zbc  Sba^es  ot  /ftt^nigbt  395 

"  Thou  must  return  at  once,  —  this  very  hour !  I  will 
aid  thee  in  thy  desire,  but  I  will  guide  thy  steps.  Man- 
fred will  arrive  this  very  night.  Should  thy  presence  be 
discovered  —  " 

He  paused  with  a  meaning  glance. 

"  How  long  the  hours  will  drag." 

"  What  matters  an  hour  more  or  less  in  the  brief  eter- 
nity of  our  existence  ?  Yesterday  at  the  cradle,  —  to- 
morrow at  the  grave,  and  then,  —  as  if  it  had  never  been." 

"  Were  it  but  all  over  after  death !  " 

"  What  matters  it  to  thee  ?  Thou  canst  come  in  no 
worse  society  over  there  than  thou  hast  kept  here." 

Apparently  submissive,  Reinald  Aquino  bowed  in 
silence  to  the  duke,  who  noted  not  the  fiendish  leer  in 
the  eyes  of  his  departing  visitor,  and  soon  unbroken 
silence  reigned  again  in  the  chamber  of  the  high  con- 
stable of  Apulia. 

It  was  nearly  the  hour  of  midnight,  when  the  form  of 
the  black  penitent  glided  out  of  a  dungeon  under  the 
castle,  in  which  from  time  to  time  deep  groans  had  been 
audible,  and,  passing  a  number  of  sentinels,  finally  van- 
ished down  a  long  unfrequented  gallery.  No  inquiry 
or  challenge  was  addressed  to  him,  for  the  superstitious 
sentries  believed  him  here  on  business  of  the  king's,  thus 
authorizing  his  entry  or  egress,  and  the  general  fear 
entertained  of  midnight  monkish  apparitions  prevented 
idle  curiosity  to  a  great  extent. 

The  wizard  continued  upon  his  way  until  he  came  to  a 
spiral  stairway,  descending  which  he  lighted  a  torch  and 
took  a  deliberate  survey  of  the  chamber  below.  The 
first  object  on  which  his  light  gleamed  was  the  figure  of 
a  page  couched  on  a  bed  of  straw.  So  white,  so  motionless, 
he  lay  that  but  for  the  apathetic  stare  which  he  fixed 


39^  Castel  &el  /Donte 

upon  the  intruder  it  might  have  been  thought  that  a 
marble  statue  had  been  bedded  there. 

"  Raise  thyself,  Francesca,  raise  thyself !  "  the  black 
penitent  whispered.  "  The  hour  of  vengeance  is  nigh ! 
Canst  thou  reveal  to  me  where  the  p>oisoned  wines  are 
concealed?  The  light  hurts  my  eyes.  Speak,  where  are 
they?" 

Without  replying  a  single  word  the  disguised  page 
raised  her  thin  white  hand  and  pointed  to  one  of  the 
archways.  The  wizard  immediately  entered  it,  making 
his  way  to  a  circular  excavation,  which  at  one  time  seemed 
to  have  served  the  purpose  of  a  wine-cellar.  Snow  was 
piled  around  it,  and  in  the  snow  lay  glistening  a  number 
of  bottles  of  scarlet  crystal,  finely  cut  and  sealed  with  a 
rich  silver  ornament.  Others  of  exactly  similar  make  and 
colour,  with  this  difference,  that  they  were  sealed  with 
lead  and  were  fewer  in  number,  lay  at  some  distance 
from  the  heap. 

Approaching  the  former,  the  muffled  monk  took  an 
instrument  from  his  pouch  which  was  contrived  for  the 
purpose,  and  deliberately  wrenched  out  all  the  corks,  with- 
out in  the  least  injuring  their  fine  seals.  Muttering 
strange  words  to  himself,  he  then  drew  an  exactly  similar 
number  of  the  leaden  corks,  transferring  one  of  the  more 
precious  ornaments  to  each  as  he  proceeded.  When  he 
had  completed  the  whole  number,  he  carefully  replaced 
all  in  the  exact  form  in  which  they  had  lain  in  the  snow, 
and  retired. 

"  Francesca,"  he  said,  as  he  returned  to  the  page,  and 
again  the  latter  mechanically  raised  herself  and  listened. 

"  I  heard  the  Moorish  hags,  before  their  demise,  tell 
thy  unkindly  lord  that  thou  alone  of  all  their  disciples 
knowest  the  antidote  to  this  poison.  Thou  wilt  not  be- 
tray it?" 


XTbc  Sba^e8  of  flDibntabt  39T 

The  page  laughed  soundlessly,  covering  her  eyes  with 
her  hands  as  if  the  light  troubled  them,  and  with  a 
profound  sigh  and  extinguishing  his  torch  the  magus  left 
the  dungeon,  mumbling : 

"  Thou  shouldst  at  least  have  had  enough  sense  spared 
thee  to  know  thyself  avenged,  —  to  have  witnessed  thy 
destroyer's  agony  and  doom ! " 

Winding  to  the  summit  of  the  stairs,  it  seemed  to  the 
sage  that  something  like  a  shriek  resounded  from  below, 
but  he  dared  not  pause  to  satisfy  himself,  and  continued 
upon  his  way.  His  steps  had  scarcely  died  away  when 
the  form  of  a  crouching  human  being  was  seen  moving 
closely  along  the  dark  corridor,  pausing  at  intervals  and 
timidly  glancing  about,  then  gradually  nearing  the  spiral 
stairway,  which  it  ascended  with  soundless,  feline  agility. 

Once  in  the  upper  corridor  the  figure  moved  slowly 
along  the  dark  stone  wall,  now  and  then  seeking  covert  in 
a  niche  or  behind  a  pillar,  until  it  had  reached  a  landing, 
where  all  further  progress  seemed  barred,  for  the  walls 
converged  at  this  point,  and  not  even  the  semblance  of  a 
door  or  aperture  appeared.  The  crouching  figure  slowly 
pushed  its  thumb  along  a  ledge  of  stone  until  it  had  found 
the  desired  object,  then,  pressing  a  spring,  the  walls 
noiselessly  parted.  For  a  moment  the  unknown  paused 
and  carefully  examined  the  mechanism  on  the  inside,  as 
if  to  convince  himself  that  egress  was  not  cut  oflF,  then 
he  cautiously  glanced  around. 

Only  the  occasional  glare  of  far-off  lightning  on  the 
western  horizon  lit  up  the  apartment.  The  intruder 
dared  not  move  but  between  the  flashes,  which  succeeded 
each  other  at  considerable  intervals,  in  order  not  to  stum- 
ble against  some  obstruction.  The  apartment  was  of 
considerable  circumference,  and  in  a  remote  corner  he 


398  Castel  &cl  /»onte 

espied  a  couch,  upon  which  the  Duke  of  Altamura  tossed 
in  f  estless,  dream-disturbed  slumbers. 

A  fiendish  smile  gleamed  on  the  intruder's  face  as  he 
cautiously  drew  nearer  and  nearer.  Suddenly  he  paused. 
Was  there  indeed  some  one  to  anticipate,  to  foil  his  ven- 
geance? But  he  saw  no  weapon,  no  steel  in  the  hand  of 
the  drooping  form,  who  seemed  bent  rather  on  soothing 
the  disturbed  spirits  of  the  sleeper ;  for  his  couch  seemed 
haunted  by  visions  which  he  in  vain  endeavoured  to  dispel ; 
cold  perspiration  stood  beadlike  on  his  forehead,  and 
broken  accents  of  terror  escaped  from  his  half-closed  lips. 
The  page  was  gazing  with  looks  of  mingled  love  and 
terror  upon  the  restless  sleeper,  as  if  the  silent  wish  could 
break  the  evil  spell  which  enthralled  him.  Creeping 
stealthily  closer,  the  muffled  figure  in  the  shadows  crouched 
down  like  a  tiger  before  the  spring.  The  page  had 
straightened  himself  to  his  full  height  to  remove  the  dark 
waves  of  hair  which,  falling  from  beneath  his  cap,  had 
well-nigh  brushed  the  sleeper's  head.  Whether  they  had, 
or  whether  the  pressure  of  the  nightmare  softening  per- 
mitted him  to  breathe  easier,  —  the  duke  suddenly  opened 
his  eyes.  A  piercing  cry  rang  through  the  chamber ;  with 
a  frenzied  oath  he  sprang  from  his  couch ;  a  long  keen 
blade  gleamed  in  the  lightning  which  rent  the  heavens; 
there  was  a  pitiful  wail,  a  fall,  and  with  bloodshot  eyes 
and  foaming  lips  Altamura  glared  at  the  dark,  prostrate 
form. 

"  Die,  damned  spectre,  die !  "  he  screamed,  like  a  mad- 
man. "  Wilt  thou  never  cease  to  haunt  me  ?  Light ! 
Light!" 

Rushing  past  his  dying  victim,  the  duke  shook  the  door 
with  a  frenzied  effort,  then,  recollecting  that  he  had  him- 
self barred  it  ere  he  retired,  he  almost  tore  away  the 
lock  in  mad  fear. 


BV    THE    ETERNAL    GOD,    I   HAVE    KILLED    HER  !  '  " 


XTbe  Sbat)es  ot  /iDiOnfabt  399 

"  Light !  Light ! "  he  roared,  emerging  upon  the 
threshold,  and  his  frantic  cries  at  last  roused  the  guards. 
The  tread  of  speeding  footsteps  resounded  from  every 
direction,  and  the  duke  snatched  the  torch  from  the  hands 
of  the  first  man-at-arms  who  reached  the  chamber, 

"  Varlets !  Is  it  thus  ye  g^iard  your  lord  and  master  ? 
I  will  have  ye  flayed  like  useless  carrion !  "  he  yelled,  and, 
closely  followed  by  eight  or  ten  spearmen,  he  rushed  back 
into  his  chamber  just  as  the  heavens  were  rent  by  a 
blinding  flash  of  lightning,  closely  followed  by  a  deafen- 
ing peal  of  thunder,  which  shook  Castel  del  Monte  to  its 
foundations. 

The  duke's  hand  went  to  his  forehead. 

"  Are  all  the  fiends  of  doom  loosed  upon  me  to-night  ?  " 
he  gasped.  "  Must  it  ever  and  ever  appear,  to  freeze  the 
blood  in  my  veins,  —  dead,  as  it  is,  and  damned?  " 

He  paused  and  staggered,  stooping  over  the  prostrate 
form. 

"  What  deception  of  hell  is  this  ?  "  his  voice  rang  out, 
like  the  shrieks  of  a  demon. 

The  torch  fell  from  his  nerveless  grasp,  and  with  a 
choked  outcry  the  duke  sank  over  his  murdered  victim. 

"  By  the  eternal  God,  I  have  killed  her  !  Francesca  — 
Francesca  —  my  love  —  speak  —  stare  not  at  me  thus  — 
Francesca  —  ah!  this,  too  —  this,  too!  It  is  too  much, 
—  it  is  too  much  !  " 

With  trembling  hands  Altamura  removed  the  dark  hair 
which  covered  Francesca's  face  like  a  protecting  veil ;  once 
more  her  bosom  heaved,  a  faint  smile  hovered  on  her 
lips,  then  the  blood-stained  fingers  which  had  quivered 
around  the  wound  in  her  heart  grew  rigid ;  the  arm  fell 
heavily  by  her  side,  and,  like  a  child  falling  to  sleep,  the 
hapless  victim  of  the  duke's  licentiousness  passed  the 
barriers  of  the  dark  beyond. 


400  Castel  J)el  /ftontc 

For  a  moment  or  two  the  duke  gazed  like  one  benumbed 
at  the  lifeless  form  of  the  woman  who  had  given  him 
true  love  in  return  for  merciless  cruelty;  then  a  wail 
like  that  of  an  animal  wounded  to  the  death  pierced  the 
gloomy  stillness  of  the  death-chamber.  From  the  duke's 
lips  oozed  bloody  foam,  and  his  eyes  assumed  the  glassy 
stare  of  the  maniac;  then  with  a  despairing  outcry  he 
fell  over  the  body  of  Francesca,  who  in  unconsciously 
saving  his  life  had  given  up  her  own,  to  find  that  peace 
in  death  which  had  been  denied  to  her  in  the  world. 

While  guards  and  attendants  rushed  terror-stricken  in 
search  of  medical  aid,  the  muffled  intruder,  who  seemed 
for  the  time  to  have  been  cheated  out  of  his  own  revenge, 
slowly  retraced  his  steps  through  the  aperture  through 
which  he  had  entered,  and  which  noiselessly  closed  behind 
him. 

"  Thou  hast  slain  thy  guardian  angel,  Altamura,"  whis- 
pered the  Count  of  Caserta.  "  Fare  thee  well  —  thy  star 
has  set !  " 

On  the  spiral  stairway  he  met  a  black  friar  who  was 
mumbling  to  himself,  seemingly  unaware  of  another's 
presence. 

"  How  strangely  the  world  whirls  round  and  round 
and  takes  no  rest,"  the  monk  said,  in  half-audible  whis- 
pers, but  the  perturbed  and  wild  expression  of  his  coun- 
tenance changed  into  one  of  self-possession  and  calm  as 
he  observed  that  he  was  not  alone. 

"  The  duke  is  in  agony,"  the  muffled  stranger  said, 
"  swooned  unrepenting  and  unabsolved." 

"  So  let  him  perish,  —  it  were  even  justice !  "  replied 
the  monk.    "  But  his  hour  has  not  yet  come !  " 

"  Thou  speakest  like  an  oracle !  " 

"The  mills  of  the  gods  grind  slowly,  —  yet  the  dead 
will  rise  and  sit  in  judgment." 


Ube  Sba^cB  ot  /fti5niabt  4ox 

"  Ay,  —  thou  speakest  truth,  friar,  for  even  now  death 
hath  struck  down  a  nun  of  the  severest  order." 

The  stranger's  eyes  flashed  from  beneath  his  mask  upon 
the  monk,  who  replied  in  tones  cold  and  imperturbed: 

"  A  nun  of  the  severest  order  ?  " 

"  One  wretched  and  guilt-lost,  —  Francesca's  body  lies 
yonder,  —  haste  thee,  friar,  lest  the  devil  win  the  race  for 
her  soul." 

With  these  words  the  muffled  cavalier  was  about  to 
pass  the  Dominican,  when  the  latter,  with  a  gesture  of  his 
raised  hand  arrested  his  steps. 

"  The  passes  of  Ceperano  are  lost,  Reinald  Aquino ; 
thou  at  least  wilt  not  cheat  the  fiend  out  of  his  own." 

"Who  art  thou?" 

"  What  matters  it  to  thee  ?  Time  and  death  solve  all 
mysteries." 

With  an  oath  Caserta  bounded  down  the  stairs,  while 
the  Dominican  hastened  to  the  duke's  chamber.  Attend- 
ants in  wild  confusion  ran  hither  and  thither,  without 
knowing  whether  their  master  was  dead  or  had  only 
swooned. 

A  few  moments  later  the  clang  of  horse's  hoofs  was 
faintly  audible  under  the  windows  of  the  duke's  chamber ; 
but  the  sound  was  quickly  lost  in  the  ever  increasing  roar 
of  the  approaching  tempest. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

CONVIVIUM    REGALE 

The  arrival  of  Manfred  and  his  retinue  at  Castel  del 
Monte  had  been  delayed  nearly  a  whole  day,  for  it  was 
not  until  the  evening  of  the  day  following  the  dire  events 
narrated  above  that  the  fanfares  of  his  heralds  announced 
the  approach  of  the  king  at  the  gates  of  the  imperial 
Hohenstaufen  castle.  His  sojourn  in  the  ancestral  halls 
of  his  house  was  to  be  brief,  for  Charles  of  Anjou  was 
reported  to  have  started  southward  on  his  crusade,  as 
he  styled  his  tour  of  conquest. 

The  sun  had  gone  down  behind  the  hills  oi  the  Basili- 
cata  and  the  purple  dusk  of  evening  spread  its  shadows 
over  the  Apulian  plains.  The  royal  court  was  assembled 
in  the  octagon  saloon,  which  had  often  rung  with  the 
merriment  of  revellers.  The  guests  had  grouped  them- 
selves around  the  king:  Galvano  Lancia,  Marino  Capece, 
John  of  Procida,  Frederick  of  Antioch,  the  Counts  of 
Angalone,  Falconara,  and  San  Germano  sharing  one  side 
of  the  oval  board,  while  the  Duke  of  Altamura,  John  of 
Alife,  Count  Cerro,  and  Giovanni  Franj^'pani  occupied 
the  other. 

The  worn  and  pallid  look  of  the  king  excited  and  ab- 
sorbed the  general  attention.  His  unusual  pallor  could 
hardly  be  accounted  for  even  by  the  excessive  sultriness 
which  was  just  beginning  to  yield  to  the  fresher  evening 

40a 


Convtvium  IRcaalc  4Q$ 

breezes.  The  Duke  of  Altamura  also  wore  an  aspect  of 
perturbation,  more  especially  so  when  his  eye  fell  upon 
a  knight  who  had  been  noticed  for  the  darkness  of  his 
garb  and  his  closed  visor.  The  duke's  inquiring  glance 
elicited  from  this  personage  a  significant  nod,  which  gave 
him  back  his  spirits,  so  that  despite  the  unsteady  gaze  of 
his  eyes  his  manner  gradually  assumed  something  of  a 
wild  gaiety. 

Manfred  sat  for  some  moments  absorbed  in  deep  medi- 
tation, listening  abstractedly  to  the  compliments  which  the 
duke  addressed  to  some  of  the  guests. 

"  Some  wine !  I  am  faint !  "  he  cried,  at  last,  with  an 
involuntary  shudder  which  the  duke  remarked  not  with- 
out satisfaction. 

Attendants  sped  away  to  execute  the  order,  and  soon 
the  chief  butler  returned  with  a  basket,  containing  a 
number  of  scarlet  flasks  buried  in  the  fresh  snow  of  the 
Abruzzi.  Almost  at  the  same  moment  there  appeared  in 
a  remote  corridor  the  tall  form  of  the  Dominican,  who  re- 
mained unseen  in  the  shadows,  his  gaze  riveted  upon  the 
assembly  in  the  cabinet. 

Manfred,  engaged  in  conversation  with  the  chancellor, 
John  of  Alife,  was  not  aware  of  the  monk's  presence  until 
Marino  Capece  whispered  a  few  words  in  his  ear,  where- 
upon he  glanced  up. 

"  What  desires  the  friar  ? "  he  demanded,  his  knit 
brows  revealing  the  impending  storm.  "  For  the  black 
vultures  of  Clement  we  have  set  aside  but  one  place  in 
our  realm  where  they  may  dwell  with  impunity:  the 
branches  of  the  trees." 

"  It  is  not  a  common  friar,  King  Manfred,"  interposed 
the  Sicilian.  "  Some  hold  him  a  wizard,  of  whom  great 
and  wondrous  things  are  told." 

"  One  monk  is  no  better  than  another,"  John  of  Alif6 


404  Castel  ^el  /IDonte 

objected.  "  The  Dominicans  are  a  seditious  set,  —  it  was 
a  Dominican  who  pronounced  the  anathema." 

"  The  more,  then,  we  admire  his  courage  for  putting 
his  head  into  the  noose  that  shall  shorten  his  breath !  " 
exclaimed  the  Duke  of  Altamura.  "  Seize  the  monk  in 
the  name  of  the  king;   these  seditions  grow  dangerous." 

The  duke  rose  from  his  seat  and  pointed  with  out- 
stretched arm  to  the  Dominican  in  the  outer  corridor,  but 
before  the  men-at-arms  could  execute  his  order  the  dark- 
robed  knight  had  approached  the  royal  dais. 

"  If  it  please  the  king,"  he  spoke  in  low  accents,  "  per- 
chance the  friar  hath  important  tidings." 

Manfred  turned  to  the  guards. 

"  Bring  the  Dominican  to  our  presence." 

"The  friar  is  mad,  King  Manfred,"  Altamura  inter- 
posed. "  Have  we  not  testimony  of  his  stirring  up  re- 
bellion in  your  capital  and  delivering  seditious  harangues 
to  the  rabble?" 

"  We  will  have  the  monk  before  us !  We  will  ourselves 
judge  whether  he  be  sane  or  as  mad  as  some  of  us  who 
go  about  unshackled,"  replied  the  king,  with  sudden  im- 
petuosity. 

"  What  needs  it,  King  Manfred,  when  we  call  to  mem- 
ory the  strange  gambols  the  would-be  wizard  has  played 
upon  us  all  ?  " 

"  Thus  it  shall  be  and  thus  we  will  learn  who  is  lord 
and  sovereign  in  our  dominions,"  said  Manfred,  with 
increasing  severity.  Then  with  a  profound  and  gloomy 
sigh  he  glanced  around  at  the  dark-robed  knight,  adding : 

"  Knight,  we  may  depend  on  thee !  Take  the  guard, 
thou  hast  our  command." 

"  It  may  arouse  a  sudden  commotion  in  the  castle,  which 
we  have  not  the  power  to  quell,  —  with  the  excommunica- 
tion upon  us,"  remonstrated  the  duke,  still  bent  on  carry- 


Convivium  IRegale  405 

ing-  out  his  intent.  "  The  minds  of  the  soldiery  are  a 
strange  compound  of  loyalty  and  superstition." 

"  On  that  point  this  knight  may  exercise  his  own  dis- 
cretion, —  he  has  that  quality,  and  we  trust  him,"  replied 
Manfred,  with  a  sigh,  which  the  duke  interpreted  favour- 
ably, the  more  so  as  the  dark  knight  answered  his  in- 
quisitive gaze  with  a  second  hardly  perceptible  nod.  His 
attention  was  now  centred  upon  the  chief  butler  and  his 
retinue  of  cupbearers.  The  dark  knight  had  made  his 
exit  from  the  sala,  and  the  duke  watched  the  butler  so 
intently  as  he  opened  the  scarlet  flasks  that,  although 
this  personage  kept  his  eye  fixed  on  him  for  some  signal, 
he  stirred  not  until  he  had  observed  that  his  own  goblet 
and  that  of  the  chancellor  were  filled  from  the  bottles 
sealed  with  lead,  and  that  of  the  king  and  the  other  guests 
from  those  sealed  with  silver. 

The  company  had  quieted  into  momentary  silence  when 
the  king  raised  his  goblet. 

"  Victory  for  the  eagles  of  Hohenstaufen ! "  he  ex- 
claimed, and,  rising  to  their  feet,  the  assembled  guests 
repeated  the  toast.  Then  Manfred  drained  the  goblet 
to  the  unbounded  satisfaction  of  the  duke,  whose  eyes 
sparkled  with  insane  triumph  as  his  gaze  darted  from 
cup  to  cup,  to  make  certain  that  none  of  those  loyal  to  the 
Ghibelline  cause  had  shunned  the  draught  he  had  prepared 
for  them. 

But  all  with  emulous  zeal  had  drained  their  goblets  to 
the  last  drop. 

Pilled  with  his  dire  inward  joy,  the  duke  now  rose  to 
return  the  royal  pledge  and  to  drink  the  health  of  the 
king.  Altamura  drained  his  ample  goblet  so  heartily  that 
he  even  tilted  it  and  clinked  the  gold,  to  show  his  friends 
the  zeal  which  he  took  in  the  aflFairs  of  the  kingdom. 
Then,  anxious  to  make  certain  of  his  victims,  he  imme- 


4o6  Gastel  ^el  /Donte 

diately  turned  to  the  chief  butler  and  commanded  the 
goblets  to  be  refilled,  in  order  to  drink  to  the  safe  and 
speedy  termination  of  the  present  war. 

But  where  tarried  the  black  knight  and  the  monk? 
Had  the  Dominican  confederates?  Manfred  cast  uneasy 
glances  at  the  door  through  which  they  were  to  enter, 
turning  almost  immediately  to  the  chancellor  with  the 
question  uppermost  in  his  mind,  regarding  the  reported 
rupture  between  the  Pope  and  his  ally  and  the  latter's 
expulsion  from  Rome.  The  question  was  inadvertently 
spoken  loud  enough  to  reach  the  ears  of  the  Duke  of 
Altamura,  who  made  reply  in  the  stead  of  John  of  Alife. 

"  Surely,"  he  said,  while  a  derisive  sneer  flitted  over 
his  pale  features,  "  there  is  still  hope  for  the  king's 
Majesty,  for  in  the  end  no  one  can  gainsay  that  the  son 
of  Frederick  has  at  all  times  been  a  most  exemplary 
and  obedient  son  of  the  Church,  even  from  the  day  when, 
leading  the  pontiff's  snow-white  charger  by  the  bridle 
over  the  bridge  of  the  Garigliano,  he  thereby  acknowl- 
edged himself  his  servant  and  vassal  for  all  time." 

Manfred  glanced  up,  his  eye  falling  with  an  inde- 
scribable and  terrible  expression  on  the  duke,  and  all  the 
marble  stolidity  of  the  latter's  visage  could  hardly  turn 
the  lightning  of  that  fierce  inquiring  glance.  Just  then 
the  monk  was  espied  on  the  threshold  of  the  chamber 
between  two  spearmen  of  the  guard. 

All  attention  was  immediately  centred  on  the  friar,  and 
when  he  faced  that  splendid  assembly,  drawing  himself 
to  his  full  height  without  any  sign  of  reverence  or  respect 
for  the  august  presence  in  which  he  stood,  his  visage 
perfectly  bloodless,  but  instilled  with  terrible  though  silent 
passion,  an  awe  fell  upon  those  present  like  that  which 
falls  upon  the  souls  of  men  when  a  tempest  gathers  and 
pauses  ere  it  bursts. 


Convivium  IRegale  407 

The  Duke  of  Altamura  now  seemed  the  only  one  un- 
troubled by  the  gloomy  guest's  appearance,  if  guest  he 
might  be  called.  He  gave  the  monk  a  nod,  which  the 
latter  seemed  to  comprehend,  for  a  fearful  smile  lighted 
his  wan  and  gloomy  features,  then  the  friar  turned  slowly 
to  the  king,  whose  dark  contracted  brows  boded  little 
good  for  the  unwelcome  intruder. 

"  Thy  purpose  here,  friar,  and  name  it  quickly !  "  Man- 
fred said,  while  his  breast  heaved  with  suppressed  emo- 
tion. "  We  hardly  know  which  to  admire  the  more,  thy 
insolence  or  thy  daring." 

The  Dominican  remained  imperturbed. 

"  I  have  come  in  an  evil  hour,  —  the  messenger  of  jus- 
tice, of  retribution.  But  before  I  speak  in  mine  own  be- 
half, King  Manfred,  command  thou  to  be  brought  into 
thy  presence  one  waiting  without,  who  is  denied  admit- 
tance in  thy  name  by  the  guards  of  the  Duke  of  Alta- 
mura." 

"  What,  —  art  thou  not  alone  ?  "  Manfred  exclaimed, 
aghast.  "  Has  thy  whole  brotherhood  infested  this 
abode?" 

"  It  is  a  woman,"  the  Dominican  replied,  sedately. 

"  A  woman !  "  the  duke  reechoed,  bursting  into  an  im- 
moderate fit  of  laughter.  "  A  Dominican  friar  journeying 
with  a  woman?  0  tempora — O  mores!  Hath  she 
youth  and  fairness,  friar  ?  If  so,  grudge  not  her  sight  to 
this  noble  company,  in  whose  understanding  eyes  she 
may  find  favour." 

"  Where  is  the  woman  thou  speakest  of  ?  "  Manfred  in- 
quired, in  tones  almost  harsh  with  excitement. 

"  The  black  knight,  in  whose  charge  I  have  left  her, 
craves  thy  direct  command  to  admit  her,  or  permission 
to  break  through  the  opposing  guards." 


4o8  Cartel  &el  /Dontc 

"  Who  dares  to  exercise  authority  in  this  castle  without 
obtaining  orders  from  us  ?  "  Manfred  exclaimed,  fiercely. 

"  The  Catalans  of  the  duke  bar  the  entrance  to  the 
hall,"  the  Dominican  replied,  coldly. 

"  Messer  Antonio,  go  and  command  in  our  name  and 
on  peril  of  death  that  none  refuse  admission  to  the  black 
knight  and  the  woman,  whoever  she  may  be,  —  we  shall 
ourselves  judge  of  the  fitness  of  her  presence,"  said 
Manfred,  with  a  violent  impetuosity  which  drowned  the 
words  in  which  Altamura  began  to  utter  a  vigorous  pro- 
test, and  which  sent  the  officer  of  the  court  speeding  upon 
his  errand  with  unwonted  and  almost  undignified  despatch. 

"  Even  so !  "  said  the  duke,  with  an  indifferent  shrug, 
contradicted  by  the  glitter  in  his  eyes.  "  I  meddle  not 
with  women,  whether  they  journey  with  monks  or  on 
their  own  account.  But,"  he  continued,  leaning  back  in 
his  chair,  while  his  eyes  darted  lightning  shafts  at  the 
friar,  "  since  I  am  high  constable  of  the  kingdom,  I  may, 
even  in  this  august  presence,  presume  to  question  what 
doctrines  those  are  thou  preachest,  monk,  which  stir  the 
people  to  disloyalty,  rebellion,  and  other  mischief !  " 

"  My  doctrines,  Duke  of  Altamura,  or,  as  thou  stylest 
thyself.  High  Constable  of  Apulia,  are  matters  beyond  thy 
province.  The  Church  alone  has  the  power  to  decide  upon 
them  and  the  king  alone  the  right  to  question." 

The  Dominican's  answer  seemed  to  reconcile  Manfred 
somewhat  to  his  presence. 

"And  what  are  thy  projects,  monk?"  said  the  king, 
turning  to  the  friar.  "  If  they  be  good,  we  will  ourselves 
aid  thee  in  their  execution,  thus  refuting  the  pontiff  on 
his  own  ground." 

"  My  projects,  King  Manfred,"  the  Dominican  replied, 
while  his  stature  seemed  slowly  to  grow  and  to  expand, 
"  are  to  root  out  from  the  soil  of  this  beautiful  land  the 


Convivium  IReaalc  409 

serpent  brood  of  Hohenstaufen,  to  free  the  air  from  their 
accursed  presence,  to  make  the  very  heavens  waver  over 
their  heads,  to  crush  them  back  into  night  and  chaos. 
My  purpose  is  to  hurl  destruction  on  the  head  of  the  last 
of  their  race  and  his  accursed  progeny." 

"  He  is  mad,  —  stark  mad,  —  a  madman  at  large,"  ex- 
claimed Frederick  of  Antioch,  after  a  brief  pause  of 
profound  astonishment.  "  What  shall  be  his  chastisement. 
King  Manfred  ?  " 

"As  a  madman  let  him  go  unchastised,"  the  king  re- 
plied. "  He  has  a  prophet's  boldness  and  perhaps  his 
mission.  And  his  warning  reminds  us  well,  duke,"  Man- 
fred turned  to  Altamura.  "  We  did  intend  visiting  some 
of  the  dungeons  which  have  recently  been  crowded  with 
strange  malefactors,  to  do  some  acts  of  grace  and  mercy 
while  we  may.  Among  the  rest  we  are  resolved  to  learn 
whether  the  daughter  of  Lesina  is  your  prisoner  or  your 
guest." 

The  duke  was  startled  by  the  directness  of  the  question, 

"  A  kindly  power  hath  most  generously  taken  care  of 
her,"  he  replied,  not  without  betraying  some  slight  alarm, 
while  his  face  turned  to  livid  hues.  "  Our  Lady  grant  she 
may  make  no  mischief  wherever  she  is  at  present,  for  she 
hath  at  times  a  rebellious  temper.  But  with  the  king's 
leave,"  the  duke  continued,  with  an  effort  to  quit  so 
dangerous  a  ground,  "  I  may  question  this  friar  further 
concerning  his  mission,  which  he  proclaims  with  such 
fearless  insolence.  Thou  shouldst  have  better  assurances, 
monk,  than  visions  to  support  thee  in  so  dangerous  a  task 
as  this  which  thou  announcest,"  the  duke  said,  turning 
to  the  Dominican,  whose  gaze  had  been  attracted  by  the 
stir  and  commotion  in  the  anteroom. 

"  This  very  night  I  had  one  in  which  I  will  rather 
confide  than  in  the  spears  of  ten  thousand,"  replied  the 


4IO  Castel  t>el  /iDonte 

Dominican.  "  Methought  I  beheld  a  putrid  carcass  breed 
a  snake,  which  caitie  forth  and  stung  the  murderer,  and 
straightway  he  swelled  and  burst,  and  it  was  given  to 
me  to  crush  the  reptile  even  with  mine  unsandalled  feet. 
And  the  carcass  resumed  its  life  and  became  lovely  and 
fragrant  and  imbued  with  youth,  as  one  whom  you  have 
all  seen,  —  and  shall  see  no  more." 

"  Well  spoken,  friar !  But  the  prophets  of  old,  whereof 
we  read  in  the  Scriptures,  showed  visible  signs  of  their 
divine  commission,  —  and  where  are  thine  ?  "  replied  the 
duke,  mockingly,  with  a  look  which  the  friar  understood 
and  returned  with  one  of  mingled  loathing  and  triumph. 

"  What  sign  can  be  more  manifest,"  he  spoke  with 
slow  and  terrible  emphasis,  "  than  that  Ferrando,  Duke  of 
Altamura,  the  assassin  more  cruel  than  Cain,  the  butcher 
more  remorseless  than  Nero,  the  infidel  more  unbelieving 
than  Iscariot,  stands  before  me  unblasted  by  the  light- 
nings of  heaven  ?  " 

"  Monk,  —  mad  though  thou  art,  —  there  is  malice  in 
thy  ravings,  which  may  distinguish  thee  from  thy  fellow 
maniacs,"  said  the  duke,  kindling  with  a  passion  which 
the  friar's  epithets  were  likely  to  rouse. 

"  I  appeal  to  the  protection  of  the  king,  —  promised  to 
me  by  this  sign,"  returned  the  monk,  with  a  bitter  smile, 
holding  high  the  royal  signet. 

"  What  is  this,  friar  ?  Is  this  hallucination  —  madness  ? 
How  camest  thou  by  this  ring  ? "  exclaimed  the  king, 
staring  aghast. 

"  Let  it  suffice  for  the  present  that  I  have  it ! "  the 
Dominican  replied. 

"  Be  it  as  thou  sayest,"  Manfred  returned,  with  fathom- 
less gloom  in  his  tones,  while  consternation  was  depicted 
on  every  countenance.  "  And  since  thou  deemest  this 
friar  a  prophet,  duke,  —  honour  him  as  such !  " 


(ront>it)ium  "Kegale  4" 

"  But  thou  era  vest  my  prcx)fs  ?  "  the  Dominican  con- 
tinued, with  studied  and  ironical  slowness,  and  it  was 
evident  that  by  his  connivance  the  arrival  of  his  com- 
panion and  the  black  knight  was  delayed.  "  And  I 
answer,  Duke  of  Altamura,  —  am  I  not  at  liberty  ?  Have 
I  not  compelled  the  dungeon  walls  to  yield  up  myself  and 
another,  who  has  confided  to  me  his  mission,  —  and  have 
I  not  summoned  hither  one  who  shall  lift  the  veil  from  the 
dark  mystery  of  death,  and  shall  bring  conviction,  proof, 
and  certainty  from  beyond  the  grave  ?  " 

"  What  wouldst  thou  say,  mad  friar  ?  What  proof, 
what  conviction  dost  thou  rave  of  ?  "  exclaimed  the  duke, 
convulsively  clutching  his  dagger,  while  he  shrank  from 
the  fierce  gaze  which  the  monk  turned  upon  him. 

Ere  the  latter  could  make  reply  the  form  of  the  dark 
knight  was  seen  entering  the  saloon,  accompanied  by 
Messer  Antonio  and  a  veiled,  girlish  figure,  that  swayed 
like  a  storm-broken  reed  from  side  to  side.  Immediately 
upon  taking  his  station  next  to  the  king,  the  knight  raised 
his  visor,  and  stood  revealed  to  the  amazed  and  fear- 
struck  eyes  of  the  duke  as  Ottorino  Visconti.  Quicker 
than  words  can  tell  he  had  removed  from  the  head  of  his 
protegee  the  long  white  linen  hood  and  veil,  and  a  cry  of 
terror  and  amazement  rang  out  at  the  sight  of  Leila,  the 
mad  girl.  Qutching  her  by  the  arm  and  drawing  her  for- 
ward with  gentle  force,  Ottorino  endeavoured  to  rouse  her 
from  the  stupor  which  lay  heavily  upon  the  drooping 
girl,  spent  and  worn  from  the  prison  air. 

"  Leila,  —  Leila !  This  is  the  reward  I  promised  thee 
for  thy  tears  and  sorrows :  vengeance  on  the  murderer 
of  thy  lover,  vengeance  on  the  slayer  of  Enrico !  Look 
around  and  tell  us  who  he  is !  " 

There  was  a  brief  pause  of  breathless  and  terrific  sus- 
pense, during  which  Leila  scanned  the  group  with  frantic 


4"  Castel  &el  /»onte 

eagerness,  until  her  eye  fell  upon  the  face  of  the  duke, 
aflame  with  demoniac  passions  and  fear,  then  with  a 
shriek  which  seemed  to  rend  the  very  walls  she  pointed 
to  him. 

"  He  is  there !  He  is  there!  Oh,  give  me  justice,  great 
king,  and  slay  the  murderer  of  Enrico !  " 

And  with  astonishing  swiftness  she  flew  to  Manfred's 
chair,  throwing  herself  frantically  at  his  feet.  The  duke 
started  up  like  a  wild  beast  roused  in  its  lair,  and  was  in 
the  act  of  springing  upon  the  hapless  girl,  when  the  king, 
rising  from  his  seat,  placed  himself  before  her,  thunder- 
ing with  a  countenance  awful  in  its  mixture  of  anguish 
and  fury : 

"  Assassin,  —  thou  art  judged !  Advance  but  a  step 
and  with  mine  own  hands  —  guards,  level  your  spears !  " 

Ottorino's  sword  instantly  gleamed  over  the  kneeling 
form  of  the  Moorish  girl,  and  the  Dominican  advanced 
toward  the  duke,  who  stood  rooted  to  the  spot  as  one 
paralyzed. 

"  And  now  hear  me,  Duke  of  Altamura,"  spoke  the 
monk,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  supernatural  and  insane 
fierceness,  his  countenance  that  of  an  ancient  prophet, 
thundering  the  curses  of  heaven  upon  the  evil-doers, 
"  Heaven  is  at  last  weary  of  thy  crimes,  —  earth  and 
heaven  alike,  and  the  hour  of  doom,  of  vengeance,  of 
retribution,  is  at  hand.  Assassin  and  betrayer!  Within 
this  hour  I  command  thee  to  render  up  thy  detestable 
soul  to  vengeance,  cursed  by  angels  and  demons  alike, 
and  on  the  answer  to  this  summons  do  I  stake  my  claim 
to  be  held  as  a  prophet  of  God  or  a  lying  impostor  of  the 
fiend.  This  ring.  King  Manfred,  was  given  to  me  by 
Grivello,  the  duke's  emissary  to  Lucera,  who,  after  gain- 
ing admission  into  the  city,  was  to  have  roused  her  de- 
fenders to  revolt.    His  sins  weighed  heavily  on  the  Cat- 


Convfvlum  IRegalc  4*^ 

alan,  and  thy  Saracens  proved  true.  Nevertheless  thou 
art  sold,  betrayed,  vanquished !  Not  by  the  weapons  of 
thy  foes  on  the  field  of  battle,  but  by  treason  in  thy  coun- 
cil, in  the  ranks  of  thy  soldiery.  Not  to  lift  the  cause 
that  is  doomed  beyond  redemption  do  I  reveal  to  thee 
this  arch  treason,  King  Manfred,  but  that  thine  own  cup 
of  anguish  may  be  the  more  bitter  in  the  knowledge  that 
those  foremost  in  thy  trust  have  sold  thee  and  thy  king- 
dom.   Urban,  my  pledge  is  fulfilled ;   my  soul  is  free ! " 

"  Villain  —  hast  thou  poisoned  my  drink  ?  "  suddenly 
exclaimed  John  of  Alife,  his  colour  changing  to  livid  hues 
as  after  a  momentary  struggle  and  vacant  grasping  in  the 
air  he  staggered  from  his  seat  and  was  supported  by 
some  of  the  guests,  who  began  to  feel  some  alarm  on  their 
own  account. 

Like  an  unrelenting  judge  whose  lips  have  pronounced 
the  doom  of  the  condemned,  the  Dominican  towered  silent 
and  immobile  among  them,  while  the  Visconti's  eyes  were 
fixed  on  Altamura. 

"  My  own  heart  is  on  fire,  —  of  this  deed  at  least  I 
am  not  guilty !  "  stammered  the  duke,  in  whose  veins  the 
direful  potion  had  begun  to  work.  Then  he  turned  fiercely 
upon  the  Dominican, 

"  Hellish  sorcerer,  —  hast  thou  poisoned  me  ?  " 

"  Nay,  your  Grace,  —  I  but  changed  the  leaden  stoppers 
for  silver  ones,  —  an  honourable  distinction  befitting  your 
rank  and  merit,"  replied  the  Dominican,  with  a  terrible 
smile. 

"  Bear  me  away,  —  the  poison  consumes  my  heart,  — 
bear  me  away,"  groaned  John  of  Alife,  while  with  one  last 
fearful  glance  at  the  duke  he  added,  "  This  is  justice." 

Then  he  sank  senseless  into  the  arms  stretched  out  to 
receive  him. 

"  What  means  this  ?     Lift  the  veil  from  this  terrible 


414  Castel  &el  flDonte 

secret,  friar,  —  we  doubt  neither  thy  mission  nor  thy 
summons,"  exclaimed  the  king,  pale  as  death. 

"  Nothing  more  or  less,  son  of  Frederick,  than  that 
Ferrando,  Duke  of  Altamura,  intended  to  poison  thee 
and  thy  councillors  and  deliver  thy  kingdom  to  Anjou 
without  one  stroke  of  sword.  San  Germano  has  been 
stormed  by  the  Provengals ;  Sidi  Yussuff,  the  emir,  whom 
thou  didst  deny  reparation  for  the  duke's  insult,  —  Sidi 
Yussuff  and  two  thousand  Saracens  cover  the  ramparts 
with  their  bodies.  The  G>unt  of  Caserta  has  deserted  his 
post,  and  through  the  abandoned  mountain  passes  of  Arc6 
and  Ceperano  the  invading  hosts  are  marching  upon  Bene- 
vento,  the  keys  of  which  city  Anjou  expects  to  receive 
at  the  hands  of  him  whom  the  judgment  of  Heaven  has 
struck  down  at  last." 

"  And  is  this  truth  ?  "  gasped  Manfred. 

"  As  true  as  that  thou  and  thy  kingdom  are  doomed !  " 
replied  the  friar. 

"An  antidote  —  an  antidote!  Where  are  my  two 
apothecaries  ?  A  thousand  florins  for  either !  Bring  them 
hither  —  I  am  burning  up  !  "  exclaimed  the  duke,  who  had 
fallen  on  the  floor  in  wild  convulsions. 

"  Those  thou  callest  are  dead,"  replied  the  monk,  "  and, 
while  disdaining  absolution,  they  send  thee  glad  greetings 
and  hope  to  meet  thee  in  the  doom  whither  thou  goest. 
Dost  thou  recognize  me,  Duke  of  Altamura  ?  " 

The  Dominican  stepped  closely  to  the  dying  man,  and, 
throwing  back  his  cowl,  revealed  features  so  stern  and 
pallid  that  the  duke  for  a  moment  closed  his  eyes.  Sud- 
denly he  raised  his  head  above  the  floor,  peered  into  the 
friar's  face,  and  uttered  a  wild  shriek  of  dismay. 

"  Dost  thou  recognize  me,  Ferrando  ?  " 

The  duke  gasped  for  breath. 

"Lorenzo!" 


Convivlum  IRegale  415 

"  Yea,  —  even  he  whose  Hfe  thou  hast  wrecked,  whose 
happiness  thou  hast  destroyed,  whose  love  thou  hast 
turned  into  hate,"  the  Dominican  spoke,  with  unutterable 
meaning.  "  I  am  Lorenzo,  who  has  tracked  thee  down 
step  by  step,  —  I  am  Lorenzo,  whom  thou  didst  force  into 
this  funereal  garb  to  save  from  worse  than  death  the 
head  of  her  who  had  brought  him  into  this  world.  I  am 
Lorenzo,  who  has  thwarted  thy  plans  and  upset  thy  de- 
signs, —  hither,  girl !  See  how  the  murderer  of  thy  Enrico 
dies ! " 

Leila  instinctively  obeyed  the  summons  of  the  Domin- 
ican, who  had  once  more  covered  his  head  with  the  cowl, 
but  when  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  duke's  distorted  features 
she  uttered  a  despairing  shriek,  "  Enrico  —  Enrico !  "  and 
sank  lifeless  into  the  arms  of  the  friar,  who  bore  her  to 
a  couch,  where  he  placed  her  as  gently  as  he  would  a 
sleeping  child. 

"  Thou  poor  loving  dove,"  he  said,  while  his  hands 
softly  closed  her  lids,  "mayest  thou  find  him  who  was 
so  ruthlessly  torn  from  thy  loving  arms,  and  though  thou 
didst  not  depart  in  the  faith,  —  requiescat  anima  tua  in 
pace." 

After  having  performed  this  last  office,  the  Dominican 
vanished  from  the  hall  and  was  seen  no  more. 

The  duke  raised  himself  on  his  elbow  and  stared  at 
Ottorino  Visconti,  who  had  approached  him. 

"  Where  is  the  lady  of  Miraval  ?  "  he  hissed  in  the  face 
of  the  Lombard. 

"  Safe  and  beyond  thy  power !  This  parting  assurance 
thou  mayest  take  on  thy  dismal  journey !  " 

"Helena  safe?  Ah!  Then  all  is  lost!  The  poison 
burns  in  my  entrails,"  cried  the  duke,  vainly  attempting  to 
rise.  "  But  vengeance  —  vengeance,  ere  I  die !  Seize 
the  sorcerer !    Ah !    Let  it  at  least  not  be  said  that  Alta- 


4i6  Castcl  &el  /iDontc 

mura  died  like  a  dog!  Help  —  help!  Helena!  Fran- 
cesca !  Ah !  She,  too,  she,  too,  —  I  slew  her,  I !  —  An 
antidote!    Keep  off  these  fiery  forms!  —  The  dark  one, 

—  he  in  the  glistening  armour,  —  damned  spirit !  Canst 
thou  find  no  rest  in  the  grave,  though  I  tore  thy  breast 
with  twenty  poniards  ?  Keep  him  off,  —  keep  him  off ! 
He  tears  out  my  heart  with  his  burning  pincers !  All 
those  ghastly  faces,  —  Crivello,  too,  —  flames,  —  flames, 

—  my  eyes  are  on  fire !    Help  —  Francesca  —  " 

And  the  Duke  of  Altamura  fell  back  lifeless,  his  head 
striking  the  hard  mosaic  of  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  HOROSCOPE 


It  was  nearing  the  hour  of  midnight. 

Deep  silence  reigned  throughout  Castel  del  Monte,  only 
the  monotonous  tread  of  the  sentries  broke  the  intense 
stillness.  The  waning  moon  shed  a  pale  spectral  light 
over  the  plains  beneath,  over  olive  and  carob  trees  and 
the  fantastic  shapes  of  the  underbrush.  Spectre-like  be- 
neath the  canopy  of  night's  dark  pall  the  white  Apulian 
towns  stretched  toward  the  distant  horizon. 

Two  men  slowly  ascended  the  spiral  stairway  leading 
to  the  heavily  merloned  tower  of  the  astrologer.  A  lamp 
which  he  could  shade  at  will  shed  its  unsteady  glow  over 
the  table  on  the  platform,  before  which,  bent  over  hour- 
glass and  chart,  sat  Ben  Hussein,  the  Saracen.  His  head 
rested  in  his  hands,  and  so  absorbed  was  he  that  he 
failed  to  note  the  approaching  footsteps  of  the  two  men 
who  were  just  emerging  upon  the  platform.  Raising  his 
head,  the  Saracen  swept  the  heavens  with  a  glance  so  long 
and  searching,  that  the  purpose  of  his  presence  could  not 
be  an  object  of  doubt  or  conjecture.  Then  his  gaze  re- 
turned to  the  running  hour-glass,  thence  to  the  mystic 
symbols  of  the  visible  planets  as  they  were  drawn  upon 
the  chart  according  to  their  position  in  their  respective 
houses.  He  studied  parallels  and  degrees  and  verified 
the  correctness  of  his  calculations  with  the  aid  of  a  second 

417 


4i8  Castel  &el  /IDonte 

chart,  which  seemed  to  serve  as  a  supplementary  survey 
of  the  mighty  overarch.  Again  he  watched  the  stellar 
hosts,  as  to  the  tones  of  their  own  music  they  paraded 
by  the  throne  of  the  Most  High,  unchallenged  save  by 
Him;  occasionally  he  reversed  his  hour-glass,  though 
more  frequently  he  made  new  diagrams,  showing  the 
changes  of  position  of  the  most  influential  bodies  of  night, 
relatively  to  each  other  or  to  the  favourable  or  unpro- 
pitious  signs  upon  which  so  much  depended.  Nor  did 
his  eye  once  weary  nor  his  zeal  lag,  while  unseen  his 
nightly  visitors  watched  every  gesture,  bending  toward 
the  chart,  as  if  endeavouring  to  decipher  the  mystic  char- 
acters. At  last  the  foremost  of  the  two  softly  touched 
the  Saracen's  shoulder.  Ben  Hussein  betrayed  no  sign 
of  surprise. 

"What  say  the  stars,  Ben  Hussein?  What  will  the 
end  be  ?  "  spoke  a  low  voice,  which  yet  betrayed  by  its 
trembling  tones  the  anxiety  of  the  questioner. 

The  astrologer  threw  up  both  hands. 

"  I  am  only  the  interpreter  of  the  stars,  the  messenger 
of  the  Supreme  Power,  King  Manfred,  —  not  a  prophet." 

"  Whether  messenger,  interpreter,  or  prophet,"  Manfred 
replied,  "  it  is  the  burden  of  that  which  thou  bringest 
that  is  of  chiefest  account.  Hast  thou  compelled  yon 
shining  bodies,  as  they  perform  their  circuits,  to  yield  up 
to  thee  their  secrets  ?  Canst  thou  lead  thy  lord  and  king 
out  of  the  darkness?  The  burden  of  mine  inquiry  thou 
knowest  —  " 

The  astrologer  bent  his  head  in  obeisance. 

"  As  yet,  King  Manfred,  no  answer  has  been  given !  I 
have  besought  the  seven  good  angels  and  the  seven  bad, 
beginning  with  the  prince  of  the  good,  who,  helmeted  and 
girdled  with  flame,  leads  the  winged  hosts,  and  ending 
with  Ahriman,  the  ally  and  consort  of  witches.    I  have 


Ube  DoroBcope  4^9 

besought  them  all,  —  but  the  king  miist  forbear!  We 
cannot  hasten  our  fate ;  we  cannot  retard  it ;  the  end  is 
in  the  throes  of  its  beginning." 

"  Thou  hast  mine  horoscope  and  the  stars  must  respond 
to  thee ! " 

"  It  is  for  me  to  observe  the  heavens,  —  it  is  for  the 
stars  to  answer !  But  hearken,  O  king,  —  a  strange  con- 
stellation appears  yonder,  —  one  rarely  ever  seen  in  par- 
allel,—  perchance  they  will  respond!  If  Mars  be  in  the 
ascendant,"  he  continued,  as  if  speaking  to  himself,  while 
bending  over  the  chart  he  glanced  abstractedly  first  at 
the  diagram  before  him,  then  at  the  heavens,  but  Manfred 
broke  into  his  soliloquy. 

"  What  then  ?  "  he  questioned,  eagerly. 

"  Then  victory  may  crown  the  banners  of  the  White 
Lily  in  the  Crimson  Field." 

"  The  mandate  —  the  mandate !  My  spirit  chafes  at 
the  delay!  Canst  thou  not  compel  the  stars  to  reveal 
themselves  ?  " 

"  Neither  to  hasten  nor  retard,  and  waiting  is  but  the 
wise  man's  hour  of  preparation." 

Manfred's  voice  sank  almost  to  a  whisper. 

"  Anxiety  is  an  enemy  to  sleep !  I  will  wait  while  thou 
concentratest  thy  mysterious  forces  on  the  orbs  above,  who 
hold  so  much  and  reveal  so  little  of  the  glittering  secrets 
of  the  beyond." 

"Destiny  rules  even  the  planets.  King  Manfred,"  re- 
turned the  Saracen,  rising  from  his  seat  while  he  fixed  his 
keen,  dark  eyes  first  upon  the  king,  then  upon  the 
heavens. 

"  The  stars  have  revealed  themselves.  King  Manfred," 
he  said,  at  last.  "  The  report  which  I  founded  on  thine 
horoscope  confirms  to  a  wonderful  degree  the  message 
from  the  firmament !  " 


420  Castel  t>cl  /iDontc 

"  Speak,  Ben  Hussein !  We  would  know  the  decree  of 
fate!" 

"  Canst  thou  endure  the  bitterness  of  truth  ?  For  oft- 
times  those  high  in  station  prefer  the  fallacious  sweetness 
of  deceit." 

"  Speak  thy  message,  Ben  Hussein.  Whatever  it  con- 
tain,—  we  quarrel  not  with  the  messenger.  Is  it  Hfe 
or  death  ?    Victory  or  defeat  ?  " 

The  astrologer  heaved  a  heavy  sigh. 

"  To  him,"  he  spoke,  after  a  brief  pause,  "  who  ventures 
forth  under  this  constellation,  the  conjunction  does  indeed 
promise  success.  But  methinks  that  Saturnus,  being 
combust,  threatens  danger  and  misfortune  alike,  whence 
I  infer  that  the  venture  may  be  perilous  or  even  fatal. 
Violence,  death,  and  captivity  are  intimated  by  that 
adverse  conjunction.  But  behold,  O  king,  —  behold! 
Heaven  has  unrolled  to  thee  her  own  celestial  volume ! " 

Manfred  and  his  companion,  who  had  hitherto  re- 
mained silent,  gazed  in  the  direction  indicated  by  the 
astrologer,  and  it  required  no  further  assurance  from  the 
latter's  lips  to  satisfy  the  king  that  the  object  which 
attracted  his  attention  was  what  Ben  Hussein  was  ob- 
serving and  pointing  to. 

Far  away  upon  the  northern  horizon  there  appeared, 
like  a  fiery  dragon,  a  huge  comet  which  wound  its  way 
through  the  myriads  of  stars,  illumining  the  heavens.  Its 
blood-red  light  seemed  to  cast  over  the  silent,  night-en- 
wrapped world  its  lurid,  unearthly  hues,  while  the  warmth 
of  the  Southern  night  changed  to  almost  stifling  sultri- 
ness, and  moon  and  stars  seemed  to  pale  before  the 
terrifying  glow.  Its  fiery  tail,  dragging  after  it  at  tre- 
mendous length,  seemed  to  whip  the  heavenly  hosts  and 
to  menace  the  system  of  the  celestial  planets. 

"  Thou  givest  me  no  hope  ?  "    The  king  turned  to  the 


Ube  f)orodcope  4^1 

Moslem,  paling  at  the  sight  of  a  phenomenon  which  the 
superstitious  trend  of  the  times  connected  with  influences 
of  evil. 

"  The  corpse-Hghts  have  shone  upon  Castel  del  Monte ! 
These  eyes  beheld  the  funeral  cortege  of  the  dead  em- 
peror traverse  the  plains.  Son  of  Frederick,  —  thy  star 
has  set ! " 

Manfred  remained  for  a  moment  silent  and  closed  his 
eyes,  then,  straightening  himself  to  his  full  height,  he 
extended  his  hand  to  the  astrologer. 

"  I  thank  thee,  Ben  Hussein,  —  even  for  this  truth. 
But  the  end  —  is  it  near  ?  " 

Ben  Hussein  bowed  his  head  and  a  tear  glistened  in  his 
eye. 

"  It  is  near,  King  Manfred,  —  it  is  near !  " 

As  the  king  turned  to  go  the  white-haired  Moslem 
suddenly  prostrated  himself  before  him  and,  clasping  his 
knees,  muttered  in  broken  accents :  "  Ben  Hussein  has 
been  the  servant  of  thy  father,  as  he  has  been  thine,  King 
Manfred ;  his  whole  life  has  been  spent  in  the  service  of 
those  he  loved.  Let  me  look  upon  thy  face  once  more, 
son  of  my  beloved  emperor,  once  more  ere  I,  too,  enter 
the  dark  portals  of  oblivion.  The  black  camel  death  is 
waiting  for  its  burden." 

"  Once  more  I  thank  thee,  thou  loyal  friend  of  our 
imperial  house !  Go  in  peace  and  pray  before  the  throne 
of  thy  God  for  thy  unhappy  king.  Farewell,  Ben  Hus- 
sein, —  fare  thee  well !  " 

The  king  and  Ottorino  slowly  started  toward  the  spiral 
stairway,  while  the  Mahometan  resumed  his  solitary 
watch.  Ere  they  descended  they  paused  once  more,  at- 
tracted by  the  beauty  of  the  night.  The  waning  moon 
cast  her  pallid,  spectral  rays  upon  the  wide  expanse  of 
the  Apulian  plains.     In  the  distance  the  princely  Garig- 


422  Castel  &el  ffbontc 

liano  was  rolling  his  majestic  tide  through  the  verdant, 
undulating  landscape,  sweeping  his  course  along  by  medi- 
aeval watch-towers  and  the  ruins  strewn  along  the  an- 
cient Via  Appia,  still  the  principal  thoroughfare  from 
north  to  south.  To  southward  the  white  walls  of  the 
ancient  city  of  Troja  rose  into  the  starry  heavens  with 
their  towers  and  battlements,  while  the  comet,  having 
taken  a  southeasterly  course,  hung  threatening  almost  in 
the  zenith  of  the  heavens. 

At  last  they  descended  into  an  inner  court,  where  Man- 
fred paused,  turning  to  his  companion. 

"  I  have  striven  for  right  and  peace  and  the  highest 
ideals  of  mankind.  I  have  aimed  to  give  happiness  and 
prosperity  to  my  subjects,  to  raise  them  to  a  loftier  pin- 
nacle from  the  serfdom  of  centuries  of  darkness  and 
bondage.  I  have  endeavoured  to  make  them  remember 
their  great  ancestors,  to  respect  themselves  and  their  ruler, 
—  it  was  the  legacy  of  my  noble  father,  who  loved  the 
Italians  better  far  than  his  own  native  Germans!  These 
are  the  crimes  for  which  Clement  has  hurled  his  maledic- 
tion upon  us,  —  these  the  offences  for  which  he  marshals 
this  foreign  crusade  against  our  lands!  Our  birth,  our 
name,  are  an  offence  not  to  be  forgiven,  —  but,  though 
heaven  itself  blazon  destruction  upon  us,  the  son  of 
Frederick  the  emperor  will  die  worthy  of  the  name  of 
Hohenstaufen ! " 

"  Courage,  King  Manfred,  —  courage !  "  Ottorino  Vis- 
conti  exhorted  the  king.  "While  there  is  life  there  is 
hope !  " 

Manfred  shook  his  head,  then  he  muttered,  speaking  to 
himself : 

"  The  corpse-lights  have  shone  on  Castel  del  Monte  — 
Helena,  my  Helena,  what  will  become  of  thee  —  of  Man- 
f  redino,  our  child  ?  " 


XTbe  1)oroscopc  4*3 

Unutterable  anguish  sounded  in  the  king's  words,  then, 
rousing  himself  with  an  effort,  he  extended  his  hand  to 
the  Visconti. 

"  With  the  early  dawn  we  start !  Until  then,  my  friend 
—  farewell!" 

Bending  low  over  the  proffered  hand,  Ottorino  with- 
drew and  Manfred  remained  alone. 


CHAPTER  VL 

THE  SPECTRAL   MASS 

The  moonlight  lay  upon  the  hazy  mountain-slopes  of 
the  Basilicata.  The  birds  were  sleeping,  and  no  sound 
of  life  broke  the  stillness.  Only  from  convents  and  clois- 
ters hidden  in  the  valley  beneath  the  muffled  tolling  of 
bells  indicated  the  midnight  hour. 

A  last  glance  at  the  stars,  at  the  threatening  comet,  and 
Manfred  continued  upon  his  solitary  way.  Again  the 
words  of  Ben  Hussein  knocked  at  the  gates  of  his  memory, 
but  a  feeling  of  resignation  began  to  spread  over  his  soul. 
The  realm  was  not  to  be  saved.  There  was  an  opposing 
fatality,  an  irresistible,  intangible  power  arrayed  against 
all  efforts.  He  felt  it  at  every  step.  In  the  midst  of 
the  most  harmonious  council  some  luckless  dispute  was 
sure  to  arise.  While  the  Apulian  barons  seemed  on  the 
verge  of  conciliation,  to  that  verge  all  approach  was 
suddenly  forbidden.  Communications  had  actually  com- 
menced with  Qement  IV.,  promising  the  most  certain 
results,  only  to  be  broken  off,  —  none  could  tell  how. 
The  amazing  treason  of  Altamura  had  struck  terror  and 
distrust  into  Manfred's  soul.  There  was  an  antagonist 
somewhere,  but  beyond  his  grasp,  an  hostility  as  power- 
ful, as  constant,  and  as  little  capable  of  being  counteracted 
as  the  hostility  of  the  plague.  The  hope  of  victory  had 
vanished,  and  with  it  the  hope  of  life;   he  would  never 

424 


Ube  Spectral  ADass  4>5 

survive  defeat  at  the  hands  of  Anjou.  Worthy  of  his 
great  name  he  would  die,  and  with  him  the  glory  of  the 
imperial  house  of  Hohenstaufen  would  sink  to  a  glorious 
grave.  But  unspeakable  anguish  welled  up  from  his  heart 
at  the  thought  of  his  dearly  beloved  queen  and  of  his  son 
Manfredino.  Q)uld  he  but  have  prevailed  upon  Helena 
of  Epirus  to  await  the  outcome  of  the  impending  conflict 
at  Manfredonia,  whence  flight  to  the  ports  of  her  native 
land  on  the  ever  cruising  Epirote  galleys  would  be  com- 
paratively easy,  he  would  more  calmly  have  faced  the 
issue.  But  the  queen  had  steadfastly  refused ;  neither 
prayers  nor  entreaties  could  prevail  upon  her  high-strung 
soul.  She  would  not  abandon  him  who  was  part  of 
herself.  John  of  Procida  had  been  commissioned  to  con- 
duct her  to  safety  if  the  worst  should  befall,  yet  Manfred 
feared  —  he  knew  not  what.  Lost  in  memories  of  the 
past,  which  reverted  more  especially  to  the  day  when  at 
Otranto  he  had  first  met  and  clasped  in  his  embrace  the 
beautiful  wife  of  his  soul,  Manfred  crossed  the  court, 
turning  toward  the  wing  of  the  castle  wherein  lay  the 
apartments  of  the  queen  and  those  of  his  sister  Violanthe, 
Countess  Caserta.  His  own  entreaties  and  persuasion 
had  tied  the  knot  which  had  bound  her  life  to  Reinald 
Aquino,  a  union  which  had  broken  her  proud,  uncom- 
plaining heart.  On  his  way  to  bid  a  last  farewell  to  these 
two  ere  the  early  dawn  found  him  on  the  road  to  his 
destiny,  Manfred  suddenly  paused. 

Strange  tones  like  distant  organ  chords,  mellowed  to 
the  sweetness  of  ^olian  harps  when  the  dreamlike  touch 
of  the  night  wind  passes  over  the  strings,  floated  on  the 
air.  They  seemed  to  come  from  the  chapel,  built  and  de- 
signed by  Emperor  Frederick  at  a  time  when  the  papal 
interdict  had  closed  every  church  and  sanctuary  in  the 


4a6  Castel  &el  /IDonte 

land,  and  where  he  had  continued  to  have  high  mass 
sung  in  defiance  of  anathema  and  excommunication. 

The  chapel  was  lighted,  and  as  Manfred  approached  the 
tones  seemed  to  increase  in  volume. 

An  indescribable  terror  came  upon  the  solitary  listener. 

Who  dared  to  brave  the  interdict  in  his  own  household  ? 
What  meant  that  chant  in  the  chapel  of  the  emperor  ? 

Racked  with  doubts  and  fears,  Manfred  slowly  ap- 
proached the  portals  of  the  sanctuary.  The  bars,  which 
had  not  been  unfastened  in  years,  denied  admittance. 
Irresolute  l\e  paused.  The  chant  within  continued.  De- 
termined to  fathom  the  mystery  at  all  hazards,  Manfred 
turned  to  a  door  used  only  by  the  officiating  monks,  and 
after  having  traversed  a  labyrinth  of  corridors  found 
himself  before  a  portal,  which  was  slightly  ajar.  The 
radiance  of  lighted  tapers  within  cast  a  narrow,  slanting 
reflex  upon  the  walls  of  the  corridor.  Standing  upon  the 
threshold  of  the  chapel,  Manfred  felt  an  icy  shudder  creep 
over  his  body,  such  as  we  experience  when  a  terrible 
dream  oppresses  our  sleep,  paralyzing  our  limbs  and 
stifling  our  cries. 

Now  he  could  even  distinguish  the  words  of  the  chant : 

"  Lacrymosa  dies  ilia, 
Qua  resurget  ex  faviila 
Judicandus  homo  reus — 
Dona  eis  requiem ! " 

But  where  was  the  invisible  choir  of  the  singers? 

Manfred  entered  the  sanctuary.  After  a  few  steps  he 
paused  again.  Was  it  a  dream  ?  Were  his  senses  reeling? 
Proceeded  the  chant  from  a  choir  unseen  or  spectral? 
And  yonder  monk  at  the  altar,  who  with  cowl  drawn 
deeply  over  his  face  stood  before  a  bier  covered  with  a 


XLbe  Spectral  ffbaes  4»i 

black  cloth,  the  ends  of  which  he  held  in  his  hands, — 
who  was  he  ?  His  features  could  not  be  discerned ;  even 
his  form  appeared  shadowy  in  the  bluish  vapours  of 
incense,  which,  rising  from  two  swinging  censers  by  the 
friar's  side  and  enveloping  the  chapel  as  with  a  mystic 
veil,  curled  in  spiral  wreaths  to  the  lofty  dome. 

For  a  moment  the  king  stood  spellbound. 

Within  the  ever  deepening  clouds  of  incense  he  watched 
the  shadowy  outlines  of  the  monk.  The  censers  appeared 
to  swing  of  their  own  accord  to  the  rhythm  of  the  mystic 
chant,  which,  filling  the  entire  chapel  as  with  spirit  voices, 
seemed  to  be  equally  strong,  equally  sweet  and  melodious 
on  all  sides. 

Drawn  onward  by  a  force  equally  irresistible  and  mys- 
terious, Manfred  strode  toward  the  bier.  The  cowled 
monk  appeared  to  be  utterly  unconscious  of  another's 
presence,  but  the  chill  of  death  ran  through  the  king's 
veins  as  he  scanned  the  wan  form  that  mumbled  the  last 
rites  over  the  unknown  dead. 

The  closer  Manfred  approached,  the  fainter  grew  the 
chant,  the  more  dimly  flickered  the  tapers,  the  more  slowly 
swung  the  censers.  At  last  he  paused  before  the  bier,  and 
bending  over  it,  started  with  trembling  fingers  to  remove 
the  cloth,  the  ends  of  which  the  monk  held  in  his  hands, 
hidden  beneath  the  ample  sleeves  of  his  gown. 

Suddenly  the  monk  seemed  to  wake  from  his  stupor. 
Raising  himself  to  his  full  height,  he  flung  back  the  cowl 
from  his  head,  and  simultaneously  jerked  the  black  cloth 
from  the  bier. 

A  frightful  shriek  ran  through  the  sanctuary. 

From  the  fleshless  visage  of  a  skeleton  which  peered 
from  the  cowl,  Manfred,  mad  with  terror,  gazed  upon  the 
uncovered  bier,  beholding  himself  thereon  lifeless,  a 
ghastly  death-wound  in  his  head. 


428  Castel  &el  /iDonte 

At  that  moment  every  light  in  the  chapel  was  ex- 
tinguished, monk  and  bier  faded  in  the  midnight  gloom, 
and  the  chant  ceased. 

But  Manfred  the  king  fell  swooning  upon  the  cold 
mosaic  of  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  BENEVENTO 


The  morning  sun  of  the  twenty-sixth  of  February,  in 
the  year  of  our  Lord  1266,  dawned  upon  the  plains  of 
Benevento.  A  golden  haze  enveloped  the  eastern  hills 
and  a  cloudless  sky  spread  its  azure  canopy  alike  over 
the  camp  of  Ghibellines  and  Guelphs. 

Ottorino  Visconti,  completely  armed,  strode  forth  from 
his  tent  and,  traversing  the  narrow  pathways  of  the  camp, 
made  for  an  adjoining  height,  which  permitted  the  gaze 
to  sweep  the  plains  and  the  camp  of  the  Provengals.  The 
hour  was  early  and  the  camp  was  not  astir.  Only  the 
sentries  passed  before  the  tents  of  the  sleepers,  many  of 
whom  were  not  to  greet  the  light  of  another  morning. 
The  Lombard  welcomed  the  early  dawn,  for  sleep  had  fled 
from  his  couch,  and,  while  he  restlessly  tossed  in  fitful  half- 
slumbers,  weird  and  terrible  dream-phantoms  had  chased 
the  peace  from  his  soul.  It  was  that  last  farewell  under 
the  walls  of  the  witches'  city,  the  parting  from  Helena, 
which  now  deprived  him  of  his  wonted  courage  and  self- 
reliance,  and  for  the  first  time  he  dreaded  to  meet  the 
issue,  knowing  that  Manfred's  eagerness  for  the  impend- 
ing strife,  which  was  to  decide  the  fate  of  his  dominions, 
came  not  from  confidence  in  the  justice  of  his  cause,  but 
from  the  anxiety  of  despair.    The  king  trusted  no  longer 

429 


430  Castel  &el  /Donte 

to  his  star.  Since  that  eventful  night  at  Castel  del  Monte, 
when  together  they  had  sought  Ben  Hussein,  the  astrol- 
oger, joy  and  gladness  had  deserted  the  heart  of  the 
Ghibelline  prince,  and  the  combined  efforts  of  his  trusty 
counsellors,  the  brothers  Lancia,  Capece,  John  of  Procida, 
and  Tebaldo  Annibaldi,  the  Roman,  had  availed  little  to 
dispel  the  gloom  which  had  settled  over  the  once  sunny 
disposition  of  the  emperor's  favourite  son. 

While  musing  over  his  own  fate  and  that  of  the  king- 
dom, Ottorino  suddenly  found  himself  face  to  face  with 
Tebaldo  Annibaldi,  whose  towering  form  seemed  to  rise 
without  warning  out  of  the  earth  before  him. 

"  Caserta  is  in  the  camp,"  the  Roman  informed  the 
Lombard,  after  a  brief  salutation. 

"  Caserta  in  the  camp  ? "  Ottorino  reechoed,  reeling 
back  as  if  he  had  been  dealt  a  mortal  stroke. 

An  expression  of  deepest  gloom  settled  over  the  face 
of  the  Roman. 

"  Manfred  is  reconciled  to  the  arch  traitor,  has  for- 
given him  the  loss  of  the  passes  of  Arce  and  Ceperano  — 
quern  Deus  vult  perdere,  prius  dement  at.  The  fate  of  his 
house  is  upon  him !  " 

Speechlessly  these  two  then  gazed  into  each  other's 
eyes,  mutely  they  clasped  each  other's  hands  for  a  last, 
an  eternal  farewell ;  then  the  Visconti  continued  upon  his 
way,  while  Tebaldo  Annibaldi  reentered  his  tent.  Op- 
pressed by  a  dark  foreboding,  Ottorino  kissed  and  re- 
arranged a  scarf,  the  talisman  which  Helena  di  Miraval 
had  at  parting  fastened  to  his  belt,  while  the  name  of  the 
woman  beloved  above  all  others  lingered  on  his  lips. 
Then  his  thoughts  reverted  to  the  hour.  "A  strange 
spell  is  upon  the  king,"  he  muttered,  as  he  continued  on 
his  solitary  way  to  the  end  of  the  camp.  "  Alas,  when 
we  fight  for  a  cause  we  despair  of,  we  are  lost ! " 


Zbc  JBattle  of  3Benevento  43» 

It  was  noon. 

For  the  second  time  the  Provengal  fanfares  sounded 
challenge  over  the  field  of  Benevento,  and  from  the  op- 
posing heights  the  array  of  the  French  knights  could  be 
clearly  distinguished  moving  down  toward  the  plains. 
Their  banners  and  pennons  waved  proudly  in  the  sun- 
light, and  their  hosts,  as  they  began  to  spread  at  the  base 
of  the  hills  which  they  had  occupied,  seemed  almost 
countless.  The  army  of  the  Ghibellines  was  marshalled 
in  three  great  divisions.  Giordano  and  Galvano  Lancia 
commanded  the  first;  under  their  banners  marched  the 
German  knights  of  Rudolph  von  Hapsburg,  who  had 
arrived  in  the  camp  at  daybreak  with  eight  hundred 
knights  from  Bologna,  and  the  forces  drawn  from  Cala- 
bria and  Terra  di  Lavoro.  The  second  division  embodied 
the  main  chivalry  of  Sicily  and  Apulia,  interspersed  with 
Saracens  under  their  own  agas  and  chiefs,  and  was  led 
by  Conrad  and  Marino  Capece.  The  third  division  em- 
braced the  flower  of  martial  Italy  and  marched  under  the 
immediate  command  of  Manfred,  surrounded  by  his  most 
renowned  leaders,  among  them  Annibaldi,  Ottorino  Vis- 
conti,  and  Frederick  of  Antioch.  Here,  too,  was  the  main 
body  of  the  matchless  Apulian  cavalry,  to  whom  orders 
had  been  given  to  support  either  of  the  wings  as  necessity 
should  demand,  and  here  were  the  Saracen  reserves. 
Manfred's  strategy  relied  mainly  upon  the  effect  of  the 
charge,  and  secondly  upon  the  reserves,  brought  to  bear 
at  the  exact  moment  upon  the  weakest  point  of  the  foe. 
All  the  horsemen  were  in  complete  link  or  net  mail, 
armed  with  spears  or  strong  swords  and  long  oval  shields, 
with  the  device  either  of  the  eagle  or  the  lily.  The 
Saracen  archers,  upon  whom  Manfred  chiefly  relied,  were 
numerous  in  all  three  of  the  corps,  wearing  brass  helmets 


432  Castcl  &cl  /iDonte 

on  their  heads,  with  leather  or  quilted  breastplates,  and 
gaiters  for  the  lower  limbs. 

In  this  order  of  march  the  Ghibelline  army  of  twenty- 
five  thousand  men  crossed  the  Galore,  taking  their  position 
to  the  northwest  of  the  city,  near  San  Marco,  in  the  field 
of  Grandello,  also  called  the  "  Field  of  Roses."  Without 
waiting  the  signal  for  battle,  the  division  commanded  by 
Giordano  Lancia  threw  itself  with  irresistible  force  upon 
the  Provengals.  Almost  at  that  precise  moment  the 
Saracen  infantry  charged  the  Provengal  cavalry,  and  so 
terrific  was  their  onslaught  that  the  first  line  of  battle 
of  the  French  was  broken  through  and  scattered  like  dry 
leaves.  Before  the  close,  serried  ranks  of  the  Germans, 
with  their  physical  strength  and  veteran  practice  in  their 
own  special  armament,  the  hosts  of  Charles  of  Anjou 
were  mowed  down  as  with  a  scythe.  In  vain  they  thun- 
dered in  repeated  charges  against  the  stalwart  Teutons, 
whose  weapons  were  the  long  broadsword.  The  French 
line  under  Giles  LeBrun  wavered  and  gave  way,  and 
step  by  step,  unbroken  in  their  iron  ranks,  the  Germans 
pressed  onward,  their  cry,  "  Suabia !  Knights !  "  rising 
high  above  the  flagging  sounds  of  "Montjoie!  Mont- 
joie!" 

It  was  the  defeat  of  his  hosts  which  brought  Anjou 
himself  to  the  foreground,  within  plain  view  of  the 
Ghibelline  forces.  Surrounded  by  Giles  LeBrun,  Count 
Robert  of  Flanders,  and  Guido  de  Mirepoix,  he  cried, 
"  By  the  fleur-de-lis !  our  knights  are  but  women  in  the 
garb  of  Provence !  Ho,  spears  to  the  rescue !  With  me 
to  the  charge,  Sieurs  de  Vendomme,  Mirepoix,  and  Bre- 
silles !  " 

And,  leading  the  flower  of  his  chivalry,  the  Provengal 
came  like  a  thunderbolt  upon  the  second  division  of  the 
Ghibellines.    It  was  the  body  of  troops  under  Marino  and 


Ube  Battle  ot  JSenevento  433 

Conrad  Capece.  At  the  command  of  their  leaders  the 
foremost  line  knelt  down,  leaving  but  their  shields  and 
spear-points  against  the  Provengal  horses,  while  behind 
them,  the  ponderous  battle-axes  raised  aloft  in  both  hands, 
bent  forward  the  soldiery  in  the  second  rank,  ready  to 
smite  and  to  crush;  from  the  core  of  the  wedge  poured 
the  shafts  of  the  Saracen  archers.  Down  in  the  dust  rolled 
half  of  the  Provengals,  while  their  leader,  unable  to  check 
the  fire  of  his  great  steed,  found  himself  borne  into  the 
third  rank  of  the  Ghibellines,  dealing  fierce  strokes  to 
the  left  and  right.  Suddenly  his  horse  went  down  under 
him,  and  an  avalanche  of  knights  swept  over  the  fallen 
Anjou.  A  thundering  cry  of  triumph  rose  from  the 
Ghibelline  hosts  when  they  saw  their  detested  enemy  sink 
mortally  wounded  upon  the  greensward.  The  Provengals, 
dismayed  by  the  calamity  which  had  overtaken  them,  broke 
their  ranks,  scattering  in  wild  flight  over  the  field.  A 
cry  of  despair  wailed  through  the  French  camp  when  the 
soldiers  recognized  the  riderless  steed  and  the  equipment 
of  their  leader. 

The  main  division  commanded  by  Manfred  had  not 
even  tasted  of  the  battle,  when  upon  his  foaming  charger 
Conrad  Capece  brought  the  tidings  of  victory.  The  king 
received  the  welcome  messenger  with  bared  head,  stand- 
ing erect,  his  stalwart  yet  slender  figure  void  of  theatrical 
pomp  and  bearing;  his  fair  hair,  the  heirloom  of  his 
Teutonic  ancestry,  falling  over  his  collar  of  mail,  his 
cheeks  flushed,  and  his  clear  blue  eyes  ablaze  with  vic- 
tory. No  more  striking  contrast  could  have  been  imag- 
ined between  Manfred's  appearance  and  the  low  brow, 
furrowed  with  ire  and  cruelty,  the  shaven  hair  of  mon- 
astic affectation,  the  tiger  eye,  and  the  great  beast-like 
jaw-bone  of  the  sallow-complexioned  leader  of  the 
French. 


434  Castel  ^el  /iDonte 

"The  Anjou  is  dead,  —  the  Provengals  are  fleeing,— 
long  live  the  king !  " 

The  whole  division  took  up  the  shooit  and  started  in 
pursuit  of  the  vanquished  foe. 

"  Hold  fast  to  your  ranks !  Break  not  the  order  of 
battle !  "  shouted  Ottorino,  when  he  saw  the  Apulians 
make  a  dash  for  the  French  camp,  and,  snatching  a  horn 
from  one  of  the  trumpeters,  he  sounded  the  return. 

But  it  came  too  late.  For  like  a  tidal  wave  sweeping 
down  upon  a  level  coast  an  enormous  body  of  knights, 
carrying  aloft  the  banners  of  Clement  IV.,  the  red  eagle 
in  the  white  field  with  a  green  serpent  in  its  claws,  bore 
down  upon  the  Apulians.  The  division  led  by  the  king 
received  the  full  force  of  the  attack,  as  its  front,  rear, 
and  flanks  were  exposed,  owing  to  the  rash  and  un- 
strategic  movement  of  the  wings. 

But  was  it  a  deception  of  the  fiend  ? 

Manfred's  face  blanched  and  Capece  stared  at  the  fore- 
most horseman  as  if  a  spectre  had  risen  from  the  earth. 
Had  he  not  seen  Charles  of  Anjou  sink  dead  beneath  the 
hoofs  of  his  charger?  Had  he  not,  at  the  head  of  his 
own  division,  swept  over  his  prostrate  form  ?  Yet,  — 
there  was  no  mistaking  the  fiendish  leer  of  the  one  who 
headed  the  attacking  forces.  These  consisted  of  the  very 
flower  of  the  Guelphs,  whom  the  wily  Anjou  had  con- 
cealed behind  the  hills,  counting  upon  the  very  incident 
which  had  occurred.  And  so  far  did  the  Provengals  out- 
number the  forces  of  the  third  division,  reduced  to  almost 
one-half  by  the  breaking  of  rank  and  discipline,  that 
Manfred  contracted  his  line  of  battle  in  the  shape  of  a 
crescent,  hoping  to  crush  the  French  as  Hannibal  did  the 
Romans  at  Cannae. 

"With  heaven's  help  we  shall  yet  win  the  day, — 
Lombards  to  the  rescue !  "  cried  Ottorino.    Without  wait- 


Ube  JSattle  of  33enevento  43s 

ing  the  order  he  set  off  at  a  furious  gallop  at  the  head  of 
his  squadron,  completely  breaking  through  the  first  line 
of  the  French.  But  they  were  outnumbered  a  hundred  to 
one.  The  raging  battle  soon  closed  around  them,  and 
Ottorino  disappeared  in  the  melee. 

Rudolph  von  Hapsburg,  who  had  been  drawn  against 
his  will  into  the  ill-timed  pursuit  of  the  vanquished 
Provengals,  heard  the  signals  from  afar,  and  when  he 
rallied  his  heavy  cavalry  to  the  attack  the  fortunes  of  the 
day  began  once  more  to  waver.  Then  the  Anjou's  com- 
mand rang  over  the  battle-field :   "A  I'estoc !    A  I'estoc !  " 

Discarding  the  long  sword  exclusively  in  use  among 
knights,  the  French  drew  the  rapier,  and  whenever  a 
German  or  an  Apulian  raised  arm  to  strike,  the  insidious 
weapon  pierced  them  through.  The  day  of  Civita  in  the 
eleventh  century  was  repeated,  when  once  again  the 
Roman  sword  carried  victory  from  the  field. 

Again  and  again  new  battalions  of  Provengals  appeared 
on  the  edge  of  the  plain,  pushing  back  with  irresistible 
sweep  the  disordered  ranks  of  Apulians  and  Sicilians. 
Suddenly  Rudolph  von  Hapsburg  rose  in  his  stirrups  and, 
pointing  to  the  field  of  Grandello,  thundered  the  ominous 
words  in  Manfred's  ear: 

"  Behold,  King  Manfred !  The  Apulians  are  going 
over  to  the  enemy !    Caserta  leads  the  treason !  " 

As  one  paralyzed  Manfred  stared  across  the  field.  The 
divisions  of  Giordano  Lancia  had  disappeared  amidst  the 
lines  of  the  enemy ;  only  the  Saracens  offered  heroic  re- 
sistance, pouring  volley  after  volley  of  arrows  into  the 
serried  ranks  that  came  against  them.  It  was  the  voice 
of  Frederick  of  Antioch  which  roused  the  king  from  his 
stupor.  Glancing  around  as  one  waking  from  a  dream, 
Manfred's  gaze  fell  upon  John  of  Alife,  whose  visage 


436  Castel  bel  /IDonte 

betrayed  little  of  the  sorrow  which  the  terrible  act  of 
infamy  might  have  inspired. 

"  What  seekest  thou  here  in  the  ranks  of  men  who 
fight  and  bleed  and  die  for  the  cause  of  their  king  ?  " 
Manfred  said,  with  terrible  accents. 

"  I  came  to  witness  the  victory  of  the  just!  "  the  chan- 
cellor replied,  with  a  sardonic  smile. 

"  Victory !  It  would  have  been  cheaply  bought  had  we 
not  heeded  thy  treacherous  counsel  and  retained  thy  per- 
fidious countrymen  instead  of  our  trusty  Germans !  " 

"  I  did  but  counsel  the  act,  —  thou,  O  king,  art  its 
perpetrator !  " 

"  Now  by  the  splendour  of  God !  Since  thou  wert  so 
brave  in  the  council-hall,  thou  shalt  thyself  bear  wittiess 
to  the  issue !  Sidi  Abdullah,  lead  forth  the  white  charger 
which  we  ordered  held  in  reserve  and  raise  this  brave 
warrior  in  the  saddle.  He  shall  lead  us  to  victory  or 
death,  the  first  deed  of  honour  his  black  soul  has  ever 
achieved ! " 

The  chancellor  turned  deadly  pale  and  sank  upon  his 
knees. 

"  Mercy,  King  Manfred,  mercy !  I  am  not  a  man  of 
strife  and  battle  !  " 

Ere  the  hunchback  realized  what  was  happening  to 
him,  he  found  himself  raised  by  the  hands  of  Abdullah's 
Saracens  into  the  saddle  of  the  snorting  Berber  steed  and 
securely  tied. 

The  heavy  cavalry  of  Rudolph  von  Hapsburg  thundered 
over  the  plain,  headed  by  a  crouching  hunchback,  who 
emitted  unearthly  yells  as  he  clung  desperately  to  the 
mane  of  his  fiery,  snorting  steed,  which  kicked  and  tore 
at  everything.  When  the  French  espied  this  singularly 
fearless  leader,  who  plunged  into  their  serried  ranks  as 
if  he  bore  a  charm  'gainst  sword  and  mace,  they  wavered. 


Ube  JSattle  of  35enex>ento  437 

Finally,  fully  convinced  that  the  Evil  One  in  person  was 
bounding  in  amongst  them,  they  scattered  in  wild,  dis- 
orderly flight,  pursued  by  Hapsburg  and  the  hunchback, 
who,  unable  to  check  the  wild  career  of  his  steed,  gave 
forth  plaintive  cries,  invoking  in  turn  demons  and  saints 
to  deliver  him  from  his  sorry  plight. 

While  the  Saracen  light  cavalry  dashed  against  the  left 
wing  of  the  Provencals,  the  French  centre,  unbroken  and 
augmented  by  the  king's  own  Apulians,  swept  down  upon 
Manfred,  who  began  to  be  sorely  pressed.  On  all  sides 
the  Italians  were  now  going  over  to  the  enemy.  The 
import  of  Caserta's  pledge  for  himself  and  the  Apulian 
barons  for  the  first  time  flashed  upon  Manfred's  mind : 
"  We  will  be  true  —  until  the  last !  "  In  vain  he  glanced 
around  for  reinforcements.  Those  of  the  Apulian  barons 
who  remained  near  his  person,  and  whom  he  ordered  to 
charge  the  enemy,  flatly  refused. 

Presently  Manfred's  attention  was  diverted  by  a  troop 
of  horsemen  who  crossed  the  ford  of  the  Galore  in  his 
rear,  led  by  a  knight  of  tall  and  powerful  presence,  clad 
in  a  suit  of  armour  of  antiquity  so  remote  that  the  oldest 
on  the  field  seemed  modern  in  comparison.  His  esquire, 
who  followed  him,  carried  his  shield,  the  blazonry  of 
which  had  been  almost  effaced  by  time ;  he,  too,  was 
garbed  in  a  fashion  as  far  out  of  date  as  his  master.  Both 
wore  their  visors  closed ;  lance,  sword,  mace,  and  battle- 
axe  were  the  weapons  of  his  mailed  array,  numbering 
about  one  hundred  knights.  The  extraordinary  size  and 
strength  of  his  horse,  and  its  worm-eaten,  though  re- 
splendent caparison  of  tapestry  velvet,  emblazoned  with 
arms  in  gold  and  colours,  added  to  the  ominous  effect  of 
the  leader's  appearance.  As  the  strange  retinue  advanced 
John  of  Procida  exclaimed :  "  Why,  —  who  comes  here  — 


438  Castel  &el  /»onte 

or  what?  It  looks  for  all  the  world  like  the  armour  of 
Charlemagne  from  his  tomb  in  Aix  la  Chapelle !  " 

By  this  time  the  strange  knight  had  reined  up  his 
charger  directly  in  front  of  the  king.  There  was  a  mo- 
ment of  intense  silence,  broken  but  by  the  din  of  battle 
raging  around  the  wings  of  the  division.  Manfred 
scanned  the  uncanny  apparition  with  a  feeling  akin  to 
superstitious  awe. 

"  Wilt  thou  grant  leave  to  one  once  thy  vassal,  now 
banished  by  thy  decree,  to  take  up  arms  in  thy  cause, 
even  though  it  be  lost  ? "  The  leader  spoke  in  deep 
and  hollow  voice,  which  rang  strangely  in  Manfred's 
ear. 

"  Thou  art  welcome,  knight,"  the  king  replied,  not 
without  a  tremor  of  suspicion  in  his  tones.  "  But  by 
what  name  shall  we  thank  thee  for  thy  timely  aid,  —  for 
we  are  sorely  pressed." 

The  knight  raised  his  visor,  but  remained  silent. 

"  The  Duke  of  Lesina !  "  Manfred  exclaimed,  aghast. 

"  Even  he,  who  remembers  his  oath  of  allegiance  when 
others  forget  it !  " 

And  without  waiting  thanks  or  response,  the  old  duke, 
ordering  his  knights  to  the  attack,  galloped  away  and  was 
lost  in  the  thick  of  the  fray. 

At  the  sight  of  desertion  which  met  his  gaze  on  every 
point,  Manfred's  cheeks  paled  beneath  his  helmet,  and  for 
a  moment  his  arm  dropped  as  if  paralyzed.  The  strange 
vision  he  had  beheld  in  the  stately  halls  of  Castel  del 
Monte  rose  once  more  before  his  inner  gaze;  again  he 
heard  the  chant  of  the  dead ;  it  boomed  in  his  ear,  hollow 
as  a  death-bell,  resounding  above  the  din  of  battle ;  then 
the  chant  died,  the  vision  faded,  and  Manfred  was  re- 
called to  the  sense  of  the  present  hour  by  shouts  and  cries 


Ube  35attle  ot  JSenevento  439 

from  the  farther  end  of  the  field,  in  which  the  yell  of 
Provengal  triumph  predominated. 

A  signal  from  Anjou  to  Giles  LeBrun  had  conveyed 
to  that  commander  the  order  for  a  mock  charge  on  the 
Ghibelline  vanguard,  to  be  followed  by  a  feigned  flight, 
and  so  artfully  had  the  stratagem  been  carried  out  that, 
despite  the  stringent  orders  of  the  Ghibelline  leaders, 
despite  the  warning  cry  of  the  king,  the  Saracens,  their 
blood  heated  by  long  contest  and  seeming  victory,  could 
not  resist  pursuit.  They  rushed  impetuously  forward, 
breaking  the  order  of  their  hitherto  indomitable  phalanx, 
the  more  eagerly  because  the  French  had  taken  their  way 
toward  a  part  of  the  field  where  lay  quicksands  and 
marshes,  into  which  the  Mahometans  trusted  to  precipi- 
tate their  detested  foes.  But  the  tide  had  turned.  With 
a  wild  laugh  of  revengeful  joy  Charles  of  Anjou  set 
spurs  to  his  steed,  and,  followed  by  all  his  chivalry,  joined 
the  cavalry  of  Picardy  and  Flanders  in  their  swoop  upon 
the  scattered  hosts.  Already  another  division  of  Saracen 
infantry  was  setting  in  motion  to  rescue  their  doomed 
brethren,  but  too  late.  For  now  the  choice  reserves  which 
had  lain  in  ambush  among  the  underbrush  thundered 
forth.  The  whole  of  the  Saracen  armament  was  broken 
up,  corps  divided  from  corps,  hemmed  in ;  attack  followed 
attack,  to  the  front,  to  the  rear,  to  the  right,  to  the  left. 
Fiercely  as  the  combat  raged,  it  could  not  long  be  main- 
tained against  such  odds  as  the  Saracens  had  to  contend 
with,  and  the  entire  division  was  mowed  down  to  a  man. 
A  fierce  shout  rent  the  air  as  Anjou's  mighty  hosts  cov- 
ered the  whole  of  the  field.  Its  lines  seemed  to  blend 
with  the  blue  horizon,  aflame  with  the  rays  of  the  wester- 
ing sun. 

Suddenly  Manfred  heard  the  French  war-cry  in  his 
rear^  and^  turning,  he  beheld  the  chivalry  from  Picardy 


440  Castel  t>el  A>onte 

and  Languedoc,  led  by  Giles  LeBrun  and  Robert  of 
Flanders,  sweeping  the  field  like  a  tremendous  tidal  wave. 
At  that  moment  the  silver  eagle  surmounting  his  helmet 
fell  to  the  ground,  though  it  had  been  fastened  in  such 
a  manner  that  neither  accident  nor  human  agency  could 
have  loosened  it. 

" Ecce  signunt  Domini!"  he  exclaimed,  turning  to 
Annibaldi,  who,  resolved  to  live  or  die  with  the  king,  had 
not  abandoned  him  since  the  battle  began.  Then  Manfred 
cast  one  despairing  glance  over  the  field  where  the  car- 
nage was  raging  at  its  height.  Everywhere  he  saw  his 
ranks  exposed ;  everywhere  treason  and  desertion  met 
his  gaze;  on  all  sides  the  Provencals  were  breaking 
through  the  scattered  resistance  of  his  faithful  Moslems ; 
none  of  his  leaders  were  near  him,  —  perhaps  they  were 
no  more  among  the  living;  the  day  was  lost,  —  crown, 
kingdom,  glory. 

One  last  glance  at  the  transparent  skies  above,  one  last 
prayer  for  the  wife  of  his  soul  and  Manfredino  his  child, 
then,  filled  with  despair,  Manfred  gathered  around  him 
the  last  remnants  of  his  once  so  gallant  host,  and  charged 
with  Annibaldi  into  the  very  midst  of  the  Provengals. 
Once  more  the  king  was  seen  towering  high  above  his 
companions,  high  above  the  French,  who  swarmed  about 
his  little  band  as  hounds  around  a  deer ;  then  he  went 
down,  —  Manfred,  the  gallant  son  of  Emperor  Frederick, 
the  poet-king  of  Italy,  sank  lifeless  upon  the  Field  of 
Roses,  a  death-wound  in  his  head,  and  surrounded  by 
the  dead  bodies  of  his  gallant  knights. 

Soon  the  remnants  of  the  Ghibelline  host  were  scat- 
tered in  wild  flight  over  the  plain,  and  Charles  of  Anjou, 
the  gloomy  victor,  sat  on  the  battle-field  of  Benevento, 
dictating  his  message  of  victory  to  Qement  IV.,  a  victory 
won  by  treason  and  crime. 


XTbe  JSattle  ot  3Bencvento  m* 

Night  had  fallen  upon  the  field  of  Grandello. 

The  victorious  hosts  of  Anjou  had  forced  their  way 
into  the  ancient  city,  and  a  Bacchanale,  such  as  history 
records  but  few,  preceded  the  pillage  of  the  old  Norman 
capital  of  Italy.  The  stars  shone  coldly  over  the  unnum- 
bered slain ;  here  and  there  a  wolf  or  a  mountain  panther 
began  to  hold  its  gruesome  feast.  Only  the  moans  of 
the  dying  or  the  distant  shrieks  of  the  vultures  hovering 
over  their  lavish  prey  broke  the  stillness  of  the  Southern 
night.  The  bells  from  a  near-by  cloister  were  tolling  the 
tenth  hour  of  the  night  when  a  woman,  wrapped  in  a  long 
black  mantle,  the  ample  hood  of  which  concealed  her 
features  from  the  inquisitive  gaze  of  a  chance  roaming 
pillager,  strode  slowly  over  the  field  of  Grandello.  At 
intervals  she  stooped  to  turn  over  a  dead  body  whose  face 
was  hidden,  then,  rising  from  her  repeated  tireless  task, 
she  continued  upon  her  dismal  journey,  not  heeding  the 
savage  growls  of  the  wild  beasts  whose  feast  she  inter- 
rupted, and  which  shied  away  but  to  skulk  back  as  she 
vanished  in  the  blue  haze  of  the  Southern  night. 

Undaunted  by  the  horrors  of  the  scenes  surrounding 
her,  undaunted  by  the  hoarse,  hungry  cry  of  the  vulture, 
the  savage  glare  of  the  panther,  or  the  threatening  growl 
of  the  wolves,  the  wanderer  continued  her  search  unflinch- 
ing, untiring. 

Hour  passed  upon  hour ;  the  waning  moon  shed  a  pale, 
spectral  light  over  the  distant  heights,  when  suddenly 
she  sank  with  a  low  moan  over  one  of  the  prostrate  dead, 
laying  her  face  so  close  to  his  that  it  touched  the  cold,  life- 
less cheeks.  Then  she  placed  her  hands  gently  under  the 
unresisting  head,  raising  it  from  its  hard  pillow,  while  in 
mute  despair  her  accusing  eyes  were  raised  to  the  starry 
heavens. 

His  helmet  cloven  in  twain,  his  face  all  streaming  with 


44*  Castel  &el  ADonte 

blood,  but  calm  in  its  ghastly  hues,  Ottorino  Visconti  lay 
among  heaps  of  the  slain.  The  scarf  which  she  had  given 
to  him  at  parting  he  had  wound  around  his  breast,  and 
this  had  proven  the  cause  of  his  death,  for,  as  he  had 
raised  his  arm  to  ward  off  the  blow  of  his  assailant,  his 
sword  had  caught  in  the  flimsy  web,  and  before  he  could 
extricate  the  weapon  he  had  sunk  mortally  wounded  under 
the  hoofs  of  his  steed. 

A  wail  of  mortal  anguish  broke  from  Helena's  lips,  as 
she  gently  closed  the  glassy,  staring  eyes,  kissed  the  fright- 
fully mutilated  head,  and  endeavoured  to  remove  the  blood 
from  the  pale,  dead  face.  Only  her  piteous  sobs  broke 
the  stillness  of  the  night,  as  in  frantic  despair  she  en- 
circled his  neck  with  her  arms  and  whispered  words  of 
love  and  anguish  into  ears  dead  to  their  caressing  sound. 

Once  more  she  raised  the  bleeding,  lifeless  head,  once 
more  she  gazed  with  unspeakable  tenderness  on  the  face 
she  loved  so  well,  once  more  she  kissed  the  eyes  whose 
light  had  been  quenched  in  death,  then  she  took  a  phial 
from  the  folds  of  her  nun's  garb  and  raised  it  to  her 
lips.  As  the  empty  crystal  fell  from  her  nerveless  grasp 
she  sank  over  Ottorino's  prostrate  form. 

"  I  am  with  thee  —  I  am  with  thee !  "  she  gasped. 
"  How  cold  thy  lips  are,  my  beloved,  —  dost  thou  know 
me  ?  Ah !  My  head  swims,  —  it  is  all  gloom  —  darkness 
—  so  soon  ?  I  will  be  with  thee  in  that  long,  long  night 
that  knows  no  morn,  —  no  waking.  I  can  see  thee  no 
longer  —  my  love  —  Ottorino  —  " 

With  her  arms  clasped  tightly  around  his  neck,  Helena 
di  Miraval  sank  dead  on  the  field  of  Grandello  beside  the 
prostrate  body  of  her  lover. 

The  pale  morning  light  of  the  succeeding  day  beheld 
a  lone  horseman  speeding  to  southward  and  spurring  his 


Zbc  JSattle  of  Benepento  443 

steed  as  if  pursued  by  an  army  of  demons.  The  plains 
of  Benevento  lay  far  behind  John  of  Procida ;  before  him 
stretched  the  broad  Apulian  expanse.  One  of  the  few 
survivors  of  the  conflict,  he  shunned  the  honours  held 
out  to  him  by  Charles  of  Anjou,  preferring  to  return  to 
his  native  isle,  there  to  mourn  the  death  of  Manfred,  the 
son  of  his  beloved  emperor. 

The  Hohenstaufen  rule  had  been  swept  from  Italian 
soil,  but  less  than  a  decade  after  an  avenger  was  to  rise 
who  would  repay  the  insults  offered  to  his  countrymen 
by  the  insolent  Provencals,  and  the  tolling  of  the  bells  of 
San  Giovanni  degli  Eremiti  in  Palermo  was  to  be  the 
signal  for  the  extermination  of  every  Frenchman  on  the 
island,  the  signal  for  retribution,  —  the  commencement 
of  the  Sicilian  Vespers. 


EPILOGUE 

At  Naples  there  is  a  legend  that  the  beautiful  Helena, 
the  wife  of  Italy's  poet-king,  by  command  of  Charles  of 
Anjou  was  murdered  with  two  of  her  children  in  Castel  del 
Ovo,  where  she  had  been  carried  a  captive,  and  that  on 
All  Soul's  Eve  a  phantom  with  long,  wavy  hair  and  a 
sceptre  in  its  hand  used  to  be  seen  gliding  along  the 
corridors  into  the  chapel.  With  the  sceptre  it  touched  a 
stone  in  front  of  the  altar,  the  stone  rose  slowly,  and 
from  behind  it  came  two  children,  who  threw  themselves 
on  her  breast.  Then  all  three  knelt  in  front  of  the  statue 
of  the  Madonna,  lifting  their  hands  in  prayer.  And  the 
infant  Christ  dipped  his  finger  into  the  blood  which 
gushed  from  the  breast  of  Helena  of  Epirus,  and  wrote 
"  Revenge  "  on  the  altar.  In  vain  were  all  efforts  to 
wash  out  the  word ;  on  All  Soul's  Eve  every  year  it  was 
renewed,  until  the  night  of  the  Sicilian  Vespers,  when 
French  blood  ran  in  streams.  Then  Helena  of  Epirus 
found  rest  in  her  grave  and  the  apparition  was  seen  no 
more. 

THE   END. 


From 

L.  C.  Page   &  Company's 

Announcement   List 

of  New   Fiction 

KILMENY    OF    THE    ORCHARD 

By  L.  M.  Montgomery,  author  of  the  "  deUghtful  and  irresist- 
ible Anne  books,"   "  Anne  of  Green  Gables  "  and  "  Anne  of 
Avonlea." 
Cloth  decorative,  with  four  full-page  illustrations  in  color  by 

George  Gibbs $1.25 

Miss  Montgomery's  new  book  —  a  charming  love  story  — 
has  again  for  its  setting  the  author's  favorite  Prince  Edward 
Island.  Kilmeny  Gordon,  the  heroine,  is  certain  to  prove  as 
dear  to  the  hearts  of  old  and  young  readers  alike  as  did  her 
predecessor,  Anne  Shirley,  "  the  dearest  and  most  moving  and 
deUghtful  child  since  the  inunortal  Alice,"  according  to  Mark 
Twain. 

The  following  quotation  from  one  of  the  early  chapters  will  be 
sufficient  to  give  a  clue  to  the  story. 

"  Under  the  big  branching  white  lilac  tree  was  an  old,  sagging 
wooden  bench;  and  on  this  bench  a  girl  was  sitting  playing  an 
old  brown  vioUn.  Her  eyes  were  on  the  faraway  horizon  and 
she  did  not  see  Eric.  For  a  few  moments  he  stood  there  and 
looked  at  her.  ...  To  his  latest  day  Eric  Marshall  will  be  able 
to  recall  vividly  that  scene  as  he  saw  it  then  —  the  velvet  dark- 
ness of  the  spruce  woods,  the  overarching  sky  of  soft  brilliance, 
the  swaying  Ulac  blossoms  —  and  amid  it  all  the  girl  on  the  old 
bench  with  the  violin  under  her  chin.  .  .  .  Her  loveliness  was 
so  perfect  that  his  breath  almost  went  from  him  in  his  first 
delight  of  it.  Her  face  was  oval,  marked  in  every  cameo-like 
line  and  feature  with  that  expression  of  absolute  flawless  purity 
found  in  the  angels  and  Madonnas  of  old  paintings  —  a  purity 
that  held  in  it  no  faintest  stain  of  earthliness.  .  .  .  There  was 
something  very  child-like  about  her  and  yet  at  least  eighteen 
sweet  years  must  have  gone  to  the  making  of  her," 


L.  C.  PAGE   <&•    COMPANY'S 


COMMENCEMENT   DAYS 

By  Virginia  Church. 

12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  .       .       .       .      $1.50 

Mrs.  Church's  new  college  story  is  based  on  the  well-known 
play  of  the  same  name  which  had  such  a  successful  run  last 
season,  and  it  is  hard  to  imagine  a  more  truthful  picture  of 
college  life  than  is  here  depicted.  It  all  happens  at  that  most 
interesting  time  of  the  college  girl's  career,  Commencement 
Season,  which  brings  with  it  a  round  of  receptions,  parties, 
coaching  expeditions,  Junior  Proms,  fudge  feasts,  and  the 
happiest  and  merriest  of  times. 

There  are  girls  and  girls,  scores  of  them,  all  through  the  tale, 
and  all  interesting  ones,  too  —  there's  Kate  Wells,  the  most 

Eopular  girl  of  the  college,  and  Lorraine,  her  chum,  quiet,  digni- 
ed  and  sweet,  who  plays  the  role  of  an  indulgent  sister.  And 
there's  the  twins;  who  really  ought  not  to  be  twins  at  all,  their 
tastes  are  so  unlike,  one  preferring  men,  and  the  other  sports, 
not  to  mention  the  slangy,  masculine  girl,  who  goes  in  for 
athletics,  and  the  dainty  httle  college  flirt. 

Of  course  there  ©ouldn't  be  any  plot  if  a  man  were  not  allowed 
to  enter  in,  and  as  Penny,  the  roly-poly  Freshman,  observes  — 
"  It's  nice  to  see  trousers  around  sometimes,  anyway  "  —  some 
mighty  nice  chaps  are  allowed  to  enter  on  the  scene.  Then 
there  are  three  distinct  love  affairs  in  the  plot,  all  in  admirable 
contrast. 

Girls  who  are  in  school  and  college  will  find  in  "  Commence- 
ment Days  "  types  that  they  have  known  among  their  own 
classmates,  graduates  will  pick  out  old  friends,  and  older  women, 
whose  school  days  are  among  their  sweetest  memories,  will  find 
that  girl  nature  is  much  the  same  in  this  day  as  it  was  in  theirs. 


MY   HEART   AND    STEPHANIE 

By  T?EGiNAiiD  Wright  Kauffman,  author  of  "  Miss  Frances 

Baird,  Detective,"  etc. 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  with  two  portraits  in  color  by 

A.  G.  Learned $1.25 

A  goodly  tale  of  love  and  mystery,  with  the  scenes  for  the 
most  part  laid  in  New  York  and  Paris,  dealing  with  the  intrigues 
and  causes  celebres  of  the  Austrian  Court.  The  story  is  woven 
around  the  Countess  Stephanie,  a  Polish  conspirator,  and  con- 
tinues also  the  stirring  career  of  the  American  girl,  Frances 
Baird,  the  heroine  of  Mr.  Kauffman's  detective  story  of  that 
name.    A  novel  to  delight  the  heart  of  eviery  lover  of  fiction. 


LIST  OF  NEW  FICTION 


A   CAVALIER    OF    VIRGINIA 

By  G.  E.  Theodore  Roberts,  author  of  "  Hemming,  the 

Adventurer,"  "  Captain  Love,"  etc. 

12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  by  Louis  D.  Gowing    91.50 

Theodore  Roberts  is  one  of  the  younger  writers  of  to-day 
whom  the  critics  have  been  watching  with  interest,  as  he  is  a 
born  story-teller  and  the  possessor  of  an  unusually  fine  Uterary 
style. 

The  scene  of  his  present  story  is  laid  in  the  old  chivalric  days 
of  colonial  Virginia,  although  part  of  the  action  takes  place 
upon  the  high  seas,  and  the  scene  shifts  for  a  short  time  to 
England,  Spain  and  to  the  unsettled  parts  of  North  America. 

The  story  develops  the  boy  and  girl  love  affair  of  the  Cavaher 
and  a  typical  Southern  beauty,  Isobel  Dariza.  The  characters 
are  admirably  drawn  and  the  reader  follows  with  breathless 
interest  the  adventures  of  Francis  Drurie,  the  Cavalier,  through 
his  stirring  adventures  on  land  and  sea. 

"  A  Cavalier  of  Virginia  "  is  easily  the  finest  story  Mr.  Roberts 
has  yet  given  the  reading  pubUc,  and  is  assured  great  popular 
success. 

THE    COURT    OF    LUCIFER 

By  Nathan  Gallizier,  author  of  "  Castel  del  Monte,"  "  The 
Sorceress  of  Rome,"  etc. 

With  four  illustrations  in  full  color  by  the  Kinneys     .      $1.50 

Mr.  Galhzier's  new  book,  completing  his  Italian  trilogy,  of 
which  "  Castel  del  Monte "  and  "  The  Sorceress  of  Rome " 
have  already  been  pubhshed,  is  a  brilliant  historical  romance 
woven  around  the  famous  and  notorious  Borgia  family,  the  main 
theme  touching  upon  the  perfidy  and  cunning  of  Cesare  Borgia, 
that  brilliant  and  unprincipled  son  of  Pope  Alexander  VI. 

Mr.  Gallizier  has  chosen  a  most  interesting  field  for  his  his- 
torical romances,  and  in  his  new  book  he  tells  with  vividness 
and  daring  of  the  glamour  and  stir  of  the  old  days  in  Rome,  the 
corruption  of  church  and  state,  and  the  subsequent  downfall  of 
"  The  Imperial  City." 

Of  "  Castel  del  Monte"  and  "The  Sorceress  of  Rome"  the  critics 
have  written  as  follows: 

"The  author  displays  many  of  the  talents  that  made  Scott 
famous." —  The  Index. 

"  There  is  color,  there  is  sumptuous  word-painting  in  these 
pages;  the  action  is  terrific  at  times;  vividness  and  life  are  in 
every  part;  and  brilliant  descriptions  entertain  the  reader  and 
give  a  singular  fascination  to  the  tale."  —  Orand  Rapids  Herald. 


Z.  C.  PAGE   (St-    COMPANY'S 


A    SOLDIER    OF    THE    REVOLUTION 

By  Robert  Neilson  Stephens,  author  of  "  An  Enemy  to 
the  King,"  "  Philip  Winwood,"  etc.,  and  G.  E.  Theodorb 
Roberts,  author  of  "  Hemming,  the  Adventurer,"  "  Captain 
Love,"  etc. 

12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  ....      $1.50 

The  many  admirers  of  the  brilliant  historical  romances  of  the 
late  Robert  Neilson  Stephens  will  be  gratified  at  the  announce- 
ment of  a  posthumous  work  by  that  gifted  writer.  The  rough 
draft  of  the  story  was  laid  aside  for  other  work,  and  later,  with- 
out completing  the  novel,  the  plot  was  utilized  for  a  play.  With 
the  play  completed  Mr.  Stephens  again  turned  his  attention  to 
the  novel,  but  death  prevented  its  completion.  Mr.  Roberts 
has  handled  his  difficult  task  of  completing  the  work  with  care 
and  skill. 

The  story,  like  that  of  "  The  Continental  Dragoon,"  takes  as 
its  theme  an  incident  in  the  Revolution,  and,  as  in  the  earlier 
novel,  the  scene  is  the  "  debatable  ground  "  north  of  New  York. 
In  interest  of  plot  and  originality  of  development  it  is  as  remark- 
able as  the  earlier  work,  but  it  is  more  mature,  more  forceful, 
more  real. 


THE    LEAD    OF    HONOUR 

By  NoRVAL  Richardson. 

12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  ....      $1.50 

If  this  book  is  a  criterion  of  what  is  to  come,  Mr.  Richardson 
will  take  high  rank  among  American  novelists.  His  writing  has 
a  beauty  of  phrase,  a  poetry  of  expression  that  is  unusual,  and 
joined  to  this  is  directness  and  power. 

His  plot  is  well  conceived  and  well  executed  and  his  characters 
are  living,  breathing  men  and  women  whose  fortunes  are  fol- 
lowed with  ever  deepening  interest. 

The  scene  of  the  story  is  Natchez,  Miss.,  in  about  1830,  and 
the  central  character  is  Sargent  Everett,  a  young  lawyer,  in 
whom  many  will  recognize  a  portrait  of  the  Hon.  Seargent 
Prentiss.  Indeed  many  of  the  incidents  of  the  story  are  drawn 
from  the  early  life  of  that  prominent  statesman  and  silver- 
tongued  orator. 

Young  Everett's  struggle  for  recognition,  his  final  success,  his 
brilliant  progress  in  his  profession,  are  matters  of  absorbing 
interest.  His  love,  his  hope,  his  struggle  with  self,  his  temptation, 
and  his  renunciation,  and  always  his  steadfast  following  of  the 
luid  of  honor,  form  the  theme  of  this  remarkable  novel. 


R^EU 


